This I Promise
by Ceara Einin
Summary: Rose doesn't want much from life - just the promise that one person she cares about won't leave, that it's okay to believe in things like magic and fairy tales. Rumors of the white stag give her hope of finding out why the person she loved most abandoned her years ago, but she quickly finds she isn't the only one chasing the wish it can grant...
1. Prologue

**Well, time for a new story! I planned to have this one out several months ago, but life got in the way and I wanted to avoid an unpredictable update schedule as much as possible. Luckily, this story is already written, every word. However, I haven't finished editing it so I'll be updating on a weekly basis. This month also happens to be NaNoWriMo and I have grad school finals bearing down on me, so if for some reason the update is late please bear with me. If you feel the urge to PM me to fuss that a chapter is late, by all means do so. If you'd rather wait in silence, more power to you. Point being, my update schedule is supposed to be firm but towards the middle of December it's quite possible a few of them will be a few days late so my apologies in advance if that does happen.**

 **As far as what to expect, well, this won't be like my other stories on the site. I got bitten by the fairy tale bug after watching the live action Cinderella back in 2015, and once Rosamar and Caspian were bitten by the romance bug I just rolled with it and threw the two together. If you've read my collection "Behind the Scenes," this is the story that almost wasn't because the first draft was such a headache. (Writing a story in 5 frenzied days will tend to do that.) But after letting it rest and cranking it through several bursts of editing, here it is. If you shipped Rosian from the Moonrose series, this is written just for you. For anyone who hasn't read Moonrose, this is simply a Caspian/OC story imagined as a fairy tale. Because why not.**

 **Now for** **the ever-necessary disclaimer: You all know the drill. I don't own Narnia or any of C.S. Lewis's characters, but my OCs are my own creation.**

 **Lastly, reviews. If you can spare a few seconds or minutes to leave one, I always appreciate it and I reply to every one. On a selfish level, it's just really nice to hear that someone is reading whether they enjoyed it or not. And on a constructive level, I'm always trying to improve so it's very helpful to get feedback telling me what I could be doing better.**

 **Okay, enough of these author notes. Enjoy the story and check back next week for Chapter 1!**

* * *

 **This I Promise**

 **Prologue**

 **(Isi)**

Once upon a time, in a land called Narnia, there lived a young girl. There was perhaps nothing very special about this girl, at least those who knew her a little thought so.

But there were two people, two people in the whole of the world, who knew her a lot. Not her mother, sweet woman that she was, and certainly not her father. They were her brother, Medias, and her Aunt Isi, a kind and generous woman who loved little Rose all the more dearly for her little strange interests. The town where Rosamar lived called her strange when they thought she wasn't listening, but Isi preferred Rose's strangeness to the rest of the town's normalness. Together, the two would sneak off to the woods whenever they wished, or whenever they could, and tell each other the most wondrous stories. Stories of wild magic and midnight dances and fantastic beasts that could speak as well as humans. Sometimes, Isi would even tell a tale of old Narnia that she knew, a tale of the Golden Age when the land of Narnia had four monarchs who ruled in peace and wisdom. Rose's favorite was the tale of Prince Cor and Aravis, of their escape from Calormen into Archenland.

Today is one such sneaking, storytelling day, begun when the sun has barely begun to rise. Rose's family is still asleep, and Aunt came to steal her away. Aunt Isi strides through the forest with young Rose's hand in her own. Sometimes, Rose pulls away to go chasing a bird, and every once in a while one of the birds will stop and rest on her arm for half a moment. Rose loves to pretend she understands the chirps and tweets, and Aunt always encourages her to speak to them as if they all understand each other.

This morning a robin is perched on Rose's hand, tipping its little brown head from side to side as if studying her. No doubt it finds the cheerfulness of the Telmarine child puzzling, as most of the other children of Beruna would throw stones in sport or just ignore any wildlife visitors that happen to visit. Not Rose.

"Hello there," Rose's little voice chirps, sounding not horribly unlike her intended conversee. "I'm Rose. I think you must have a name too. You do have one, don't you?" Rose whips her head around, and her small brown eyes meet her Aunt's much older ones. "He must have a name, mustn't he?"

"Of course he must," laughs Aunt Isi. "All creatures have names, we only have to listen for them to tell us."

"Well go on then. I'd like to know your name, Sir Robin," says Rose. At her words, the bird on her finger puffs out his chest and sings out a rather high-pitched tweet. With a few flaps of his wings, the red-breasted robin takes off into the air, singing all the while.

Rose watches him go with a puzzled little line between her brows. When the robin is gone from sight, she turns to Isi with a sparkle in her eye and a child's playful grin on her lips. "I think he likes Sir Robin, Isi. What do you think?"

Isi laughs again, shaking her head at her niece. "Any bird would be lucky to have such a name. Come on now, let's go deeper in." Isi doesn't tell Rose, but there is a stream a little way in that the girl hasn't found yet before. The summer has been unbearable of late, and Isi wants to dip her feet in the cool water. She knows Rose will love the gurgling, babbling stream as much for the sound it makes tumbling around the pebbles as the relief it offers from the heat.

"Why don't we just move away together?" Rose says suddenly, stopping in her tracks and staring up at Isi.

Isi stops too, and a certain kind of apprehension fills her. She likes the idea as much as Rose does, certainly, but it isn't practical. Their lives are here, and travel in Narnia is dangerous for two women, to say nothing of a woman and a young girl. And Telmarine towns are not exactly known for their hospitality to strangers. But how to say this without hurting Rose's feelings, without her thinking Isi just didn't want to? Her niece is sensitive about feeling unwanted. She feels it from the village most days of her life, after all.

"Rose, I…" Isi takes a deep breath of the dawn air, in the strange hope the fresh, wild smell and taste will bring the proper words to her mouth. "It's not that I wouldn't wish to. But it's not practical to just get up and leave. No town would accept us without questions."

Rose shrugs small shoulders and doesn't even blink before opening her mouth. "We wouldn't have to live in a town. Why not live in the woods? People must've done it before."

Animals have. Birds have. The Talking Beasts of Old Narnia, they have. But humans? Telmarines?

"There must be some place we can go, just the two of us. Some place safe, away from everything else. Some place…oh I don't know. Some place magical."

"I don't think there's such a place in all the world, Rose," Isi answers with a heavy heart.

Rose frowns and looks away into the woods. Isi hates how serious her niece has become. This morning was supposed to be another of their carefree escapes into the woods, and now Rose has that look, that hopeless sort of look she gets often back in town. Isi's made it her life's work to keep that look away as much as she can, and the thought of having brought it to little Rose's face – Rose, who's only turning eleven this year – it kills her. So Isi puts on a smile she doesn't entirely believe in and turns to Rose.

"At least, in this world. But perhaps, there's another world, beyond the horizon or off the edge of the world. Or five paces away. You never know where you'll find a little bit of magic."

It works. Rose instantly snaps back to attention, the look gone from her features, swept away by curiosity and hope. "Another world?" Rose ponders the words for a moment, and her face scrunches up as if she's trying to turn them over in her mouth. "Do you really think we could find magic?"

Now Isi doesn't have to pretend. She smiles, a warmer smile than before.

"Magic is everywhere, Rose. We only need the eye to see it."

Rose beams and starts to skip alongside Isi once more. "You believe in magic, then?"

"I believe in everything," Isi says. "Especially magic."

Rose takes Isi's hand in her own, and Isi marvels at how calloused Rose's hand is already. Children shouldn't have hands like that, but at least Rose is smiling now.

"Then I believe in magic too," says Rose. And she skips ahead, hand slipping from Isi's as she goes chasing another robin.

They do find that stream, and Rose's joy bubbles up like the laughing brook over the stones. Isi tells her a story while they sit with the water flowing over their toes, one of the Kings and Queens of Old. Rose marvels at all of them, but it's Lucy she loves hearing about the most. And Aslan, always Aslan. When Rose asks, inevitably, if Isi believes in Aslan too, Isi just smiles.

"I believe in magic, remember? Aslan is the best kind of magic, the kind that's only ever good."

Rose promises to believe in Aslan too, and Isi lets the two of them stay hidden in the woods long after the sun rises.


	2. Chapter 1

**Right on schedule! I'm stupidly pleased with myself...This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but since this story isn't as long as my others I'm not gonna stress. Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review if you have a sec!**

* * *

 **C** **hapter 1  
(** **Rose)**

"Isi? Are you there?" Rose raises her knuckles to her aunt's door and knocks for a third time. Isi has been sick lately, but she'd promised to take her to the forest today. Surely she has to be getting better by now.

"Isi?" With a fifth knock, Rose decides Isi might be in the woods already, waiting for her. So she leaves, hoping to find her aunt with a story of old Narnia ready on her lips. Isi's never missed a story day, not even when she was sick.

Rose's steps feel heavy as she enters the woods, winding through the familiar trees aimlessly. Surely Isi would tell her if something was wrong, surely there must be some reason she wouldn't answer yesterday or today…

Rose spends hours among the trees, and she finds no sign of Isi. Nothing, not even a twig out of place or well-placed flower to say Isi was near. Isi isn't here, not today and not yesterday. Something's wrong, it must be.

It's with swift feet and weak knees that Rose runs back to Isi's house. She's horribly late for school, she knows, and her mother will likely have one or two things to say about her absence today. But maybe she'll understand, something's wrong with Isi and Isi's much more important than a dull classroom filled with children Rose doesn't much like. Most of them delight in causing misery, and those that don't are always the butt of the miserable jokes, including Rose herself. She hates watching it happen to the others and she hates experiencing it herself. She's always felt safe with Isi.

Now Rose's knocks on Isi's door are frantic, all banging palms and frightened shouts, no more rapping knuckles and gentle calls. "Isi!" she shouts. "Isi! Please come out, Isi! I'm worried, you haven't come out in days!"

All Rose receives for her efforts are the disturbed looks of passersby. Perhaps in another town her neighbors would stop and ask what's the matter, but in Beruna something is nearly always the matter and no one wants to know what it is this time because then it'll be one more thing to take care of and try to forget by morning.

"Isi!" Rose tries one last time, and then she's had enough. With only a small twinge of guilt, she tries the handle. Locked. So Rose upturns the pots of flowers under the windows until she finds the spare key, and then she flies into the house with a chest that feels too tight.

"Isi?"

Something's wrong, oh so wrong. She can feel it.

Rose looks to the right, in the kitchen and dining area with the packed dirt floor and wooden furniture that creaks just a little whenever it's sat upon. She runs her fingers across the cupboards, over the fireplace filled with ashes and soot. It's as cold as death – Isi hasn't had a fire in a while. Odd, for winter's been approaching with all haste for a week now. Rose hasn't been able to sleep without extra layers; just last night, she chose to sleep by the dying embers of the hearth instead of her own bed because it was just warmer that way.

"Isi?" she whispers, her throat horribly tight. Where is Isi? Why are there no dishes in her washing basin, no logs in the fireplace, nothing out of place anywhere as if no one's been living here? Why would Isi let this much dust gather on her chairs when Rose knows dust annoys her to no end and Isi would rather chase rats from her bed than have even a few specks of dust on the chairs? Isi cares little for mess in her home – she prefers it – but she can't stand dust. And now there is dust and no mess, the exact opposite of how Isi likes it. She'd never let it get like this, Rose knows she wouldn't. Not if she had a choice.

All at once, Rose wants to leave. She doesn't want to look in the bedroom, doesn't want to search for Isi any more. An awful, sticky weight is settling in her gut, something that tells her she won't find Isi no matter how hard she looks. It's almost as if…no, Isi wouldn't leave. She wouldn't.

Rose's feet take her to the bedroom anyway, and the familiar creak of the bedroom door makes her stomach twist. Somehow, she already knows what she'll find.

It's exactly what she dreaded. A perfectly-made bed, with that same thin layer of dust already settling in, no stray clothes or brushes strewn across the floor, the rocking chair in the corner tucked against the wall exactly so. Isi always has the chair by the bed or at some strangle angle where the headrest hits the wall. But now all is tidy, picked up, and far too neat. Rose runs a trembling hand over the top of the rocking chair, rubbing the dust between her fingers. It's too soft, it shouldn't be there at all.

Her knees give out and now she's sinking to the floor, staring down at the dust on her fingers and swallowing hard against the wetness in her eyes and the lump in her throat. Isi's never missed a story day before.

Eventually, Rose realizes she's been sitting in the middle of Isi's bedroom for hours, only because it's getting dark out and her mother's probably wondering where in Tash she's gone off to. Rose would rather not have a lecture tonight, but it's best to get it out of the way now. So how to make herself move, move and get up and walk out of this house like she's accepting defeat? Isi can't just leave. She'd always said they'd leave together.

Rose's legs are stiff and cramped when she finally convinces herself to get to her feet. She wants to stretch, but why bother? She may well find herself back here tomorrow, knocking on the door and forgetting about this whole mess and remembering it again with that dust on the rocking chair.

The walk home is long, slow, and yet somehow over far too quickly. Rose wants to stay outside, but her brother catches sight of her through the window before she can duck away.

"Rose!" he hollers, "where have you been? You've almost missed dinner, silly bird."

Any other night, the endearment would make her smile. Tonight she tries, but the smile just won't come. She slips inside, and of course Medias notices.

"What's wrong, little bird? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Rose shakes her head, unsure what to say. She should just blurt it out, make it easier on herself and just get it out of the way so she can eat dinner with her family and go to bed early to avoid the questions. But what comes out is another thing entirely.

"Do you know where Isi is?" Rose hears herself saying with a forced smile twisted across her mouth. "I couldn't find her today."

Medias's frown deepens, and he stares at her for a moment too long. "No. She wasn't at home?"

Medias knew. Rose doesn't know how, exactly, she realizes this, but once she has an icy spear shoots down her back. "You knew," she whispers, her forced smile falling away in favor of a new, dawning rage. "You knew she was leaving, didn't you?"

"Rosamar! Where on earth have you been? You're always to be home by dusk, I thought we'd established – " Mother stops mid-sentence when she sees Rose staring at Medias like he's just betrayed her. To Rose, he has.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Rose says, quiet anger burning through her choppy words. "Why didn't she?"

Rose's mother interrupts before Medias can say anything. "She was in a rush, Rose. She asked us not to say anything. Now come on, it's dinnertime and the soup is getting cold."

Rose recoils, her head ringing as if she'd just been slapped. "Didn't want you to say anything?" Rose whispers. "And you want me to care about soup?"

Medias's hand settles on her shoulder, a warm and familiar weight that should have been comforting. "Just come and eat with us, little bird. It'll be easier after you've eaten."

"I don't want to eat," Rose says, pulling away from the warmth of her brother's hand. "I want to know why she left."

"After dinner, Rose," comes Mother's voice, gentle and sorry as it floats to Rose's ears from the kitchen.

"Come on." Medias wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides her toward the table. Rose lets him, but all through dinner she keeps thinking that the soup tastes bitter.

* * *

Medias comes and stays with her that night, in a rocking chair just like Isi's. Rose almost tells him to get rid of it, to smash the cruel reminder of Isi's abandonment, but she settles on resolving to do it in the morning herself.

"I'm so sorry we didn't tell you, little bird. We thought you'd take it worse if you knew."

"I didn't get to say goodbye," Rose whispers back. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Medias is silent, but she takes it as a promise. She also understands, just then, that he didn't want to keep her in the dark. She wonders how many times these past few days he'd almost told her, and the thought is a strange but welcome comfort. It's easier, somehow, knowing not everyone wanted to pull the floor from under her feet so suddenly.

But they still did. Tonight, Medias's silent and unspoken regret is a comfort, but tomorrow Rose will be angry. Angry that even though he didn't want to keep secrets from her, he still did. Angry that he didn't come out and tell her like he wanted to, when he had so many opportunities. Angry that he let Isi go and start her new life far away from stifling Beruna without letting Rose tell her goodbye. Rose feels all of those things now, but tonight she doesn't want to listen to them just yet. There will be more than enough time for anger tomorrow. Tonight she wants to sleep and pretend none of this happened for just a few hours.

So sleep she does, with Medias's silent company chasing away the loneliness. Just before she nods off, Rose makes herself a promise. She will never give people the opportunity to abandon her. She doesn't want to feel like this ever again.


	3. Chapter 2

**Aaaaand a late update. In my defense, this is the last week of NaNoWriMo and I'm pitifully behind. And I have my first exam next week. So today is a double update day, yay! After this, the next update won't be until the 10th of December.**

 **Thank you to wildhorses1492 for reviewing the first chapter! Constructive feedback of any sort is always welcome, of course.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2  
** **(Rose)**

Rose stays true to her promise for years. She keeps everyone, even Medias, an arm's length or more away, never lets them get close enough that she'd be devastated if they disappeared from her life. Disappointment, she allows; devastation, she does not. Some of them do disappear, an old playmate named Celia whose family moves to Telmara, the city surrounding Lord Miraz's castle. Ansel, Medias's oldest friend, who leaves to try and join Miraz's army when he's sixteen. Erla, Rose's grandmother, who dies of her old age when Rose is seventeen. Erla's passing hurts the most, but Rose sticks to her rule still. She's sad, she misses her grandmother, but she's not devastated. She still feels whole when she goes to bed at night, still does all the things she's used to doing. While her family dissolves into a bit of a mess, Rose keeps her chin up and ignores the pangs in her heart on the days when her grandmother would come over for dinner. Rose's mother comes to her for comfort some days, and the strangeness of the flipped situation doesn't bother Rose much at all. If anything, she feels proud that she can be the strong one in the family for once, that she can keep it all at a distance enough to keep going as if all is normal.

Medias expresses concern sometimes, telling her to not let go of the things that make her herself. Rose pretends to take the words to heart, but she brushes them off later when Medias isn't looking. She doesn't much care to be herself, because the last time she let herself be that she got burned for it. No, there's no room in this world for the innocent, wide-eyed, naïve girl Rose used to be. She has to be strong enough to take care of other people, when they feel how she's promised herself she'll never feel. She's much better at putting other people back together than she is at putting herself back together.

So she comforts her mother at Erla's passing, and Medias at Ansel's departure and the news of his untimely death on the road. But not herself, never herself because she doesn't need it. Why should she let herself need it when others already feel that way, and she's already felt that way, and who will take care of them if she doesn't? Better to look after them than herself. Always better.

It's a regular, normal, plodding sort of day when it happens. Rose is getting water from the well at her mother's request and Medias is with her father, learning all there is to know about building bridges over Beruna. The war has been going for months, and rumors of Prince Caspian fighting for his rightful throne have been sweeping through on a weekly basis. It's always the talk of the town when there's been a skirmish, though the news is hardly ever good. Many of the people support Caspian these days, especially since Miraz stole all of the able-bodied men away to build his bridge over the Great River, but Caspian's forces, rumored to be Old Narnians, are hardly a match for Miraz's trained troops. The best news was long ago, towards the beginning of the war when word got out about Caspian's sneak attack in the night that left Miraz missing thousands of weapons. Since, there's been nothing good.

Except today.

Rose drops the bucket in the well when she hears it, a horrible yet beautiful roar sound from somewhere and everywhere at once. At least, she thinks it's a roar – she's never heard a roar before. And before she can puzzle out exactly what sort of animal might be charging into town, a great golden Lion bounds up and all the town is running hither and thither, most of them screaming and holding their skirts as they race away. But some stare silently in awe, an excited sort of reverence dawning upon their faces. One girl in particular, Rose knows her as Gwendolen, stands there with the most joyous expression in the middle of a – oh! In Rose's old classroom, but now it isn't a classroom at all but a forest glen, with ivy and trees and luscious green grass that looks wonderful for lying down in and staring up at the clouds. And in the middle of all the chaos is the Lion.

Rose's breath catches in her throat. Aslan. She knows his name from the stories about him, about Old Narnia that Isi would tell her. This is Aslan, the Great Lion, Son of the Emperor Across the Sea. Aslan. The name fills her with a foreign warmth.

Then Aslan is bounding off toward the river, toward the How where Prince Caspian's troops are rumored to be. Miraz's forces swept through Beruna just yesterday. Is this to be it then? The battle that decides who will be the king of Narnia?

Aslan. He's real. Rose suddenly doesn't care much for the battle, for that strange warmth is lingering in her chest and spreading out, until all her skin feels a-tingle and she's tempted to burst out singing. The magic Isi spoke of, told her so many stories of – it's real. What other wonders of the old world could be out in the world beyond her little town of Beruna? Now that Aslan's appeared, will they start to show themselves? Perhaps Caspian's troops really are Old Narnians. Rose wonders if he's met any centaurs, or minotaurs, or even Talking Beasts.

Magic is real. Rose begins to think it might be all right to hope for it again, never mind Isi's departure. Isi never would have left if she knew Aslan would one day come here. Rose's spirits sink a little at that, but she tosses the feeling aside as best she can. For the first time since that night she found out Isi left, it doesn't work. The painful, empty feeling lingers, refusing to be banished from her heart. Is this Aslan's doing? Why would he care?

Rose presses a fist to her heart, wishing it away with all her might. She doesn't want to feel this – she's fought for years to never feel this again! How could this be happening, after she's been so careful? She isn't supposed to even care anymore.

Today, she does. Perhaps it's the magic and Aslan that reminds her too much of Isi. At once, Rose wants to go home and forget about the dropped bucket and curl up in bed. She doesn't know how to chase these feelings away, but perhaps they won't haunt her in sleep.

"You practically invited that lion in!"

The ugly shout breaks Rose's inward focus on her misery and draws her attention back to the classroom – well, forest glen now. Gwen stands outside looking very small, and two of the boys from her class are yelling at her, saying she wanted the lion to eat them all and it'd serve her right if he ate her too. Rose doesn't intervene in situations like this, only helps to pick up the pieces after it's over. But today, she gets the urge to stop the mistreatment.

"Hey!" Rose shouts, striding over to the trio with a pinched brow and thunder in her voice. "Leave Gwen alone, why don't you? She was much braver than the lot of you."

She's expecting some sort of verbal spar, but the boys startle at her interruption and slink off, presumably to go crying to their parents about the awful lion who destroyed the classroom and, by their telling, almost ate them all. Rose shakes her head, strangely sorry that they can't understand the wonder of what they just saw.

"Thank you," Gwen says, looking up at Rose with a tentative smile.

Rose answers with a smile of her own. "Of course. I wasn't going to just let them talk to you like that."

Rose and Gwen spend the rest of the day together, and they're the first to celebrate when the news of Prince Caspian's victory reaches the village. The victorious even pass through Beruna the next day, no doubt on their way back to Caspian's castle, and Rose gets to see the Old Narnians – the centaurs, the minotaurs, the fauns, and there's even talk of a River God who broke the Telmarine bridge and won the battle. But the best part is the four children, or perhaps young adults, who are with Caspian. They match the descriptions Isi gave. They're the Kings and Queens of Old, Rose is sure of it. She and Gwen even sneak off one night to see the camp a few miles away, and they chatter all night and morning about the wonders they see. Creatures that were only supposed to exist in storybooks, creatures long believed to be extinct, before their eyes as easy as anything.

It takes months for the excitement to die down, and Rose and Gwen quickly discover that they're good friends by the end of it. Somehow, sharing in the wonder of Narnia together brought them close, and Rose finds herself caring very much about Gwen staying in her life. She isn't supposed to, but she does.

Perhaps that's the magic of Narnia.

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

Caspian is no fool when he takes the throne – he knows uniting his people and the Narnians in one country won't be easy. He also knows that not all of the disgruntled Telmarines will leave for the new country Aslan has told him about. Indeed they don't, and when the Kings and Queens leave for their own world, Caspian is left to unite the people alone, for not even Aslan stays with him. The war is won, but Caspian is sure the worst of it is yet ahead.

One of the first things to come up is the customs. Narnians and Telmarines have very different ideas about how to celebrate holidays, how to pay respect to the nobility, how best to rule in peacetime, how to organize towns and villages and cities. The peoples have very little in common, and the most pressing matter is integration. Caspian has to find a way to unite them, else how is he to rule them? As two separate people, with their own laws based on their own customs? How is anyone to keep track of all that?

So he begins by introducing his most trusted Narnians to the council and granting them seats on equal standing with the lords that remain. Caspian's decided to disband the council in favor or a more egalitarian approach, but he can't do too much at once or the Telmarines may start an uprising themselves. He may have the popular support right now, but if Caspian isn't careful he'll lose it. But he refuses to force their obedience. He is not his uncle.

Today was the first council meeting with the Narnians in it, and Caspian's head is ringing from all the arguing that happened in those few hours they were in session. There are still many bitter feelings on both sides, nothing to be banished overnight at the wave of his hand. Just trying to get them to agree on any of the proposed new laws of the land was a headache. In the end, the council only settled on one law: the circumstances necessary for a council meeting to be called.

When at last Caspian is alone in his room for the night, the paperwork done for the day and all of tomorrow planned out, he sinks to his knees by the window.

"Aslan," he whispers into the night. "Aslan, I need guidance. Help me to unite this country. The people, your people, need peace badly. Help me give it to them."

The prayer makes him feel a bit better, and Caspian resolves to repeat it every night. Though Aslan is gone for now, perhaps the Lion will hear him still.


	4. Chapter 3

**Next chapter as promised! Apologies for this slightly altered schedule, but as of Dec 10 everything will be back to normal with weekly updates.**

 **Don't forget to leave a review! I love hearing from you all :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 3  
** **(Caspian)**

At last, Aslan answers Caspian's prayers. Rumors begin to float about that the White Stag has been spotted around Aslan's How. It can grant any wish – perhaps it can even grant peace to Narnia. Caspian is bound and determined to find out, to chase down any opportunity to bring peace to the divided country. Perhaps this stag, the same that the Kings and Queens of Old chased those long centuries ago, can do what Caspian hasn't yet been able to do in his months as king.

Caspian hopes so. He's prayed for this since his coronation, and now it may finally have a chance of coming true. Perhaps this stag is Aslan's sign, his gift to Narnia.

Caspian leaves at dawn, mere hours after the rumors come to his ears. Trumpkin and Doctor Cornelius have promised to keep things running smoothly at the castle while Caspian chases the stag, and they're all prepared for him to spend a few days chasing it.

Destrier keeps a steady, thundering pace over the plains and through the woods. Caspian's reminded briefly of his night ride for his life and freedom many months ago. It feels as though it was years ago. Has he really fought for peace for less than a year? How the time flies.

Caspian pushes Destrier hard, pushes until the horse protests such a frantic pace and starts to balk at Caspian's urgings. Caspian relents, guilt for his rudeness loosening his hands on the reins, but it's a relief when Destrier thunders up to the Great River and swims across. The water is cold against his legs, and the soaking is a bit unpleasant with the winter months fast approaching. Caspian begins to wish for a change of breeches as Destrier continues on alongside the river.

He rests the night in the woods, and is greeted by two Talking Rabbits in the morning. They offer him a breakfast of fresh fruits and vegetables, which he gladly partakes of. Then he's off again, asking Destrier to please hurry because he finally has a chance to truly live up to his title. Destrier tosses his head as if he understands, and Caspian could swear the stallion gallops a bit faster through the trees. He offers his thanks and an abundance of oats for Destrier's trouble in the midday meal, and rests for two hours before pressing on. He doesn't want to miss the stag entirely.

At long last, Caspian arrives at the How. Destrier bursts through the trees around the How's plain, sweaty and tired from the ride, but just then Caspian catches a flash of white among the trees on the other side of the plain.

"Come on Destrier, we've almost caught what we came for!" Caspian urges his horse on, and with a flick of his tail Destrier complies. They're across the plain within seconds.

"Whoa, whoa!" A girl's voice shouts, and a neigh very nearly splits Caspian's ears in two.

Destrier rears, another horse suddenly in front of him, and the other one rears too, almost throwing its rider in the process. A girl, the same who must have shouted.

"What do you mean, nearly running me over?" she shouts as her grey horse finally settles four hooves on the ground. "You should be more – Your Majesty!"

Caspian's barely had time to grasp that he nearly ran into another horse and rider before the girl is bowing her head and breathlessly apologizing.

"I didn't realize it was you," she gasps, her mouth agape and her eyes horrified.

Caspian finally gets his bearings, and replies quickly. "No, no, I must apologize. You're right, I should have been more aware. I nearly ran you over."

The girl pauses, and a smile plays around the edges of her mouth. "Yes, you did."

Caspian chuckles at her boldness, a welcome shift from her apologetic respectfulness of moments ago. "Once more, my apologies." Caspian pauses, regards the girl before him in puzzlement. "You shouldn't be this far into the forest alone, miss."

"Neither should you, I imagine," she tosses right back at him. Her eyes glitter with playfulness, though she tries to hide it by looking away and running her fingers through her mount's mane. The horse shifts beneath her, breathing hard but not so hard as Destrier.

"I was chasing the stag," Caspian admits. "I saw it only moments ago."

The girl frowns and returns her gaze to him. "What does a king want with the Stag?" There's a strange coldness to her now, something akin to disappointment. Caspian doesn't understand it, but he finds the reason is tumbling from his lips anyway.

"Only peace," he answers honestly. "Peace for a kingdom in sore need of it."

The girl softens, the harsh lines of distrust smoothing from her face. She is mercurial, this strange girl who's alone in the forest. Caspian finds himself wanting to know more about her.

"And what do you wish for, my lady? For you too are in the forest, alone, chasing a fairy tale."

Now the girl looks down, though she doesn't hide her face from him as before. She stares at her hands, threaded through her mount's grey mane, for a moment too long. When she meets his eyes again, the spark in her eyes is a different sort of playfulness than before. There's sadness behind it. "Perhaps I just like chasing fairy tales, Your Highness. I don't have such lofty goals as peace."

Caspian doesn't know what to make of this girl. He's intrigued, even though he should be chasing that stag, chasing the dream of peace so his people can live the lives they fought so hard for. Yet still he finds himself asking for her name, and holding his breath on the hope she'll give it.

"My lady," he says, still utterly confused why he's asking her this at all instead of riding on, "what do they call you?"

Laughing, the girl tips her head to the side, regarding him as if he's a silly schoolboy. At least, that is what he feels like, speaking with her alone in the woods with nothing but their horses for company.

"Never mind that," she says, "you've got to start chasing that stag if you ever wish to catch it." With those words she starts to guide her horse away from him, and he realizes that he's loath to see her leave without at least knowing her name.

"Surely you don't intend to abandon the chase yourself?" Caspian asks, fighting a strange hope that she'll chase the stag with him so they can both receive what they want most.

The girl smiles, a hint of sadness in her features once more. "I think I've chased enough fairy tales for one day."

Caspian starts to say something, he isn't sure what, but she speaks again before he can.

"Besides, it'll be dusk soon, and my family expects me." Then she's urging her horse into a canter, and before Caspian really knows what's exactly just happened he finds himself alone once more in the forest, with Destrier the only living thing in sight.

Then a flash of white, that same elusive stag, up ahead through the trees, and Caspian's off again, wondering if the whole encounter was merely a dream.

* * *

 **(Rose)**

Back at home, Rose dismounts with shaky legs and shock numbing the ache in her legs from a hard day's ride. She's sure she just met the king himself, Caspian the Tenth. She recognized him from his pass through Beruna years ago, and now she's spoken with the king. It's a strange thing, and it should mean little to her.

He wasn't at all how she expected royalty to be.

Rose recalls that little half-smile of his as she brushes the dirt and grime from Mia. He nearly ran her over, the prick, but he did apologize and then he got a gentler sort of look after all that, as he asked for her name and all but told her he didn't want her to go. Strange indeed, and even stranger are the tingles in her stomach. Surely this is all normal when one meets royalty, never mind the prince one saw ride through one's town for his victory march. The same prince who indirectly returned her brother to her, sent him home from the horrid bridge work Miraz had ordered.

Rose shakes off the unsettling feelings as best she can, finishes taking care of Mia, and heads inside. She wants to spend time with Medias tonight, and she's about to be late for supper.

"There you are, little bird!" Medias thunders as she scoots in the door, well past dusk. "Tell me, why are you always late?"

Rose shrugs, hoping he won't see the blush dancing across her cheeks. "No reason, I suppose. Perhaps I just have a horrid sense of time."

"And time makes your cheeks flame? Come on, little bird, what was it today?" Medias grins at her, making Rose wish he didn't know her so well. He's been teasing her more of late, and all over that silly Arten. He's just a friend, the blacksmith's son, but Medias is determined to see her married off before he settles down himself. Some nonsense like seeing her taken care of first, never mind how many times she's tried to tell him she can take care of her own self.

Against her will, Rose finds her traitorous mouth is blurting out the day's encounter, the words bubbling out even though she wants to say none of them. "I just met someone under some peculiar circumstances today," she says, the sentence feeling more akin to a beginning than an end. "That's all."

"Peculiar circumstances?" calls her mother from the kitchen. "What ever do you mean?"

"Quiet, woman, lest you indulge her silly fantasies!"

Rose stiffens at once at her father's growl. He's been scarce of late, always consumed in weaseling himself into the good graces of town's mayor. Tonight he's home early, unfortunately for his children. Medias always ends up in some sort of row with him, and it's often over Rose. Medias wants to see Rose married off but in love, and their father wants a marriage of advantage, preferably to the mayor's son. Never mind that Rose doesn't care one whit for the arrogant prig, the same boy who'd taken delight in torturing her for years in school for enjoying stories of magic.

And now Medias is ready to start another fight, his mouth opening on angry words that are sure to end in shouts and perhaps an overturned table or two. Rose lays a hand on his arm and shakes her head, willing him to avoid this tonight.

"It's not worth it," she whispers to him, her hand tight on his forearm.

"How is the mayor, father?" she calls, as pleasantly as she is able. She knows it'll end in another attempt to get her to see the mayor's son, but better to sit silently and listen to that than hear her brother shouting with her father again. Medias means well, but it grates on Rose when he tries to fight her battles for her.

Medias frowns down at her, but he closes his mouth anyway.

"That fool seems to be coming around. Though now you ask, have you spoken with Leo? You know that boy could be fond of you if you made the effort. I can't be relied upon to improve this family single-handedly, you know."

Rose grits her teeth, as does Medias, but she answers before he can. "Yes Father, I know."

"Then best do something about it, hm? Daughters are only good for so much."

"Do leave that subject for another time, it's unfit for our dinner table." Rose is flooded with relief at her mother's interjection, even though she knows it may do no good.

Of course, it doesn't. When her father is in the middle of a particularly long-winded rant about the family's position, Medias turns to her and asks what sort of peculiar circumstances, clearly in need of the distraction to keep himself in check. His temper can rival Father's, and it's not a good thing.

"In the forest," she whispers back, trying to seem unassuming so Father won't notice. "I think I met the king."

Medias's eyes widen, surprise and mischief merging into one. "Fancy that, little bird. You, ensnaring royalty."

Rose scrunches her nose and kicks him under the table.

When dinner is through, Father heads off to the tavern, as he's taken to doing lately. The mayor frequents the tavern, corrupt mutt that he is. Rose and her mother pretend to wish Father a pleasant evening, but it's a relief to have him out of the house. Rose will never quite understand how that union came about, her father and her mother, but she's quite determined to have nothing like it.

And of course, once Father is well and truly gone for the night, Medias and Mother want to know all about her "peculiar encounter," she tells them all about meeting the king of Narnia, alone in the woods. She doesn't say what she was doing, nor what he was doing, but the tale of them both riding through the forest at exactly the same time is intriguing enough on its own. Medias swears not to tease her when he sees how awestruck she really is, but she only believes him a little. Mother, she has to swear to secrecy, for if Father ever found out that'd be the end of her life here in Beruna. But Mother promises easily, and Rose is sure she even enjoys the little subterfuge. Secrets are fun when kept from Father, so long as he doesn't find out.

Rose is holding out hope he won't, and she feels free enough to replay the strange meeting over in her head before she falls asleep.

The king of Narnia. Who'd have thought?


	5. Chapter 4

**Back on a normal schedule! The next time I update, I'll be done with finals and 12 hours from seeing The Last Jedi...now that's a weird sentence. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4  
** **(Caspian)**

Caspian chases the stag all day, and the next, and the next after that. By the fourth day, he can't find a single trace of the beast. He stays for a fifth day anyway, on the wild hope that it will come back, that he may yet get a second chance to help his people. None comes, and Caspian tries not to be horribly disappointed.

He distracts himself thinking of the girl he met.

He isn't sure why, but she's burned in his mind. He's missed the normality of daily interactions that aren't seeped in politics, as all of his interactions have been since he took the throne. It was…refreshing, to meet someone who could tease him in spite of his title. After that first apology, she was loose and friendly, playful. Where did she come from? Nearby Beruna, perhaps? Maybe he can see her again. Oh, but he has so many more important things to do. What time does he have for a dalliance, no matter how pleasant or light-hearted?

No time, he has no time at all. He shouldn't even be thinking of it, especially with a girl he just met. It's foolishness, and Caspian has no time for foolishness.

Yet she haunts his thoughts still, even as he leaves the relative peace of his hunt and returns to the politics of Telmara. Surely she lives near Beruna; it's the closest town he knows of. Or perhaps she traveled far to chase the stag, as he did? No, she left for home as if it was not so very far away.

Caspian shouldn't be, but he's imagining seeing her again, finding her in Beruna and seeing if she is as charming for a second meeting as she was for the first.

This is nonsense, all of it. Caspian has responsibilities – he can't just go gallivanting off to find some pretty girl. No matter if he's sure she's much more than a pretty face.

Yet Caspian dreams of the girl, who was supposed to be a distraction until he returned to court.

* * *

"Wake up, Your Majesty, that was hardly a proper fight at all!" Ironhoof chides the king with his sword to his neck. The centaur taps Caspian's shoulder with the flat of the blade and frowns deeper.

"Apologies, Ironhoof. My mind seems to be every place but here." Caspian huffs and steps away from the lost spar. It's been weeks, and he still can't banish the girl from the forest from his thoughts. He thought burying himself back in the politics of ruling and coaxing a tentative peace would help, but it hasn't. Even sparring, his usual method for banishing unhelpful reminiscences, has failed him time and time again. Today is a particularly troublesome day. The Giants of the North are testing the border, and Caspian had to struggle to pay proper attention at the council meeting – a pair of warm brown eyes with a playful sparkle in them kept stealing his focus.

"As it has been for many weeks now, if you'll pardon me." Ironhoof adjusts the training sword in his grip, the picture of impatience.

Caspian finally confesses, though he doesn't quite intend to. "It's a girl I met in the forest, chasing the stag. I can't seem to stop thinking about her."

Ironhoof's eyebrows arch. "A girl? I had no idea you even thought of such things, Sire."

"I don't," Caspian rushes to say. "Not usually. I don't know what's come over me."

The centaur's frown disappears. "Have you thought to seek her out? Your meeting may not have been the accident of fate you think it."

"Fate had nothing to do with it. We happened to be chasing the same thing. That's all." Caspian actively ignores the little part of him that wonders if he's wrong and Ironhoof is right.

Ironhoof snorts, narrowing his eyes and stomping a hoof. "Don't be a fool. You can't seem to focus on anything else."

"Yes, it's my own weakness," Caspian insists, suddenly concerned with an invisible spot on his pristine sword. "Nothing more. It's not as if I have time for those sorts of things anyway."

Frowning, Ironhoof sheathes his sword and walks off toward the armory. "Perhaps you should find a bit of time. The council will be asking when you intend to wed soon."

"Perhaps, but they haven't asked yet," Caspian says. This talk of the girl from the forest only makes him wish to find her even more than before. He shouldn't have brought it up.

"They will. Perhaps now is the time to start thinking of those things." Ironhoof may be speaking in serious words, but Caspian could swear there's a hint of teasing beneath the centaur's advice.

Caspian sheathes his sword as he falls into step beside his friend. "The council will have their hearts set on an alliance. There's little good in marrying a girl from the forest."

"They don't need to see a good," Ironhoof counters. "Only you do."

Caspian sighs and pretends to be tired of the subject, but a wild hope starts to build in his chest. Perhaps he will try to find the girl from the forest after all.

* * *

As predicted, the council brings up marriage within two sessions. Caspian glances at Ironhoof, and the poorly concealed satisfaction is almost too much to bear. He was right, that centaur. Caspian isn't sure whether to thank him for the warning or scowl at its truth.

"The people need assurance the kingdom is secure. They must know your line will continue," pipes one of the older Telmarine lords. He's long been pushing for Caspian to develop an interest in various princesses and noble ladies in private, but this is the first time he's brought it to the rest of the council. Caspian has no wish to tell them about the girl from the forest; he already knows what they'll say.

"Your Lordship makes an excellent point," Caspian forces himself to say. "I assure you, I will begin courting the moment I find a suitable match."

The council murmurs amongst itself, and Caspian shifts in his seat. It never ceases to unnerve him when they speak too quietly for his ears. Even with almost a year since the War of Deliverance, the occasional fear of betrayal from within still unsettles him.

"Perhaps it would aid in Your Majesty's search if suitable matches were brought to you," continues another lord, Lord Aran. He's often full of new ideas, many of which have bettered Narnia. This one, though, Caspian is not overly fond of.

"It seems rather unfair, My Lord," Caspian replies, "to ask those women to make the long journey here with no guarantees."

"Many of them will make the journey in due time, this merely brings them at the same moment," Lord Aran insists, leaning forward in his chair. "Perhaps a ball, for an evening of diversion for all."

Caspian would much rather have a Narnian dance than a Telmarine ball, but the latter is admittedly a bit more appropriate to meeting all his visitors. Another glance at Ironhoof decides him, though Caspian still doesn't quite like the notion.

"Very well, Lord Aran. A ball there shall be, but in six months' time. No sooner."

The council argues for a solid hour over the timeline, and Caspian wishes he could leave the chambers for a breath of fresh air, or several. But in the end he agrees to hold the event in three months, half his original time. It's not precisely to his liking, but it's the best he'll get without several hours more of deliberation.

Then he thinks of the girl from the forest. She is unlikely to be nobility, to be deemed a suitable match by the council. So Caspian gets a wild idea, one he isn't even that sure of. Yet he finds that he's proposing it anyway, and the thrill of doing something just a little reckless tingles in his veins.

"I will agree to this on one condition. Let the invitations for this ball go to every maiden in the kingdom, be she considered suitable or not. It would please the people, unite Narnian and Telmarine alike for a night of merriment."

More murmuring, but now Caspian's heart is racing in his chest and he's thinking of little else but brown eyes and graceful fingers twining through a grey mane.

Lord Aran approves, leading the entire council to do the same. "As you wish, Your Majesty," he says. "That will be very well, very well indeed."

* * *

 **(Rose)**

Mother keeps the secret from Father well. Medias is sure it won't last, as Father has a way of coaxing out anything he wishes, but Rose is just as sure the secret will stay just so. There's nothing to tip Father off, and if all stays as is there won't be. He'll have no reason to ask if nothing is amiss.

A fortnight after she met the king, Rose seeks out Gwen, now one of her closest friends. Gwen is newly engaged this past week, to Arten no less. There was much celebrating, and now that it's died down Rose wants to hear Gwen's take on the meeting. Rose keeps remembering it, thinking about the king, and with no idea what that means. She only went after the stag in the vague hope it could tell her something about Isi. Bring Isi back, perhaps – she still doesn't quite know what she wanted from it. But Isi's tale of the Kings and Queens of Old chasing the stag seemed as good a reason as any to take a chance.

Rose leaves after her morning chores are finished; Gwen is all smiles as she greets her. "Rose, dear friend!" the younger woman says, bouncing over on the balls of her feet and flinging her arms around Rose's shoulders. "You've been scarce since the engagement, you elusive goose!"

Rose laughs and returns the tight hug. "I'm sorry Gwen, I've had some things on my mind."

"Well of course you've got to tell me all of them," says Gwen, beaming at her. "I do miss hearing your secrets."

Linking arms with her closest friend, Rose follows Gwen into her house. "You've been busy with your new fiancée. I couldn't deny him the pleasure of your company."

Gwen swats Rose's arm as they duck inside, the warmth of the house's hearth a welcome respite from the autumn chill. "He's had enough of me for now, I think. It's been a week of nothing but wedding talk. Now sit down and do tell me what's on your mind."

Rose sits obediently on a faded wooden chair at the kitchen table, Gwen across from her, and wets her lips, suddenly unsure how to begin. The whole thing sounded merely curious when she told Medias, but here it feels nothing short of fantastic. Who would believe she met the king in the forests by Aslan's How, both of them unaccompanied, and him nearly running her and her horse into the ground?

Rose tilts her head and smiles instead, choosing to wait on that topic for just a moment. "First tell me of you. How is Arten? Surely being engaged must have been quite a change."

A dreamy, far-off look instantly takes over Gwen, and Rose is left staring in amusement with her hands tracing the faint patterns in the wood table below her fingertips.

"It's as wonderful as I'd imagined. Oh he's impossible at times, but he's so very kind to me. Not at all like most of the other pigs in town. He's even talking of moving, to get away from all the childhood bothers."

Something in Rose's chest begins to hurt. Gwen, moving away? Leaving? Her heart squeezes painfully. Yet Rose only wants to be happy for her. Leaving Beruna will make her very happy, will give her a fine life she could never have here. Rose doesn't want to take away from that happiness.

So she forces herself to smile and get as giddy as Gwen at the prospect of the move. Gwen promises she wouldn't be so far away she and Rose would never see each other, and Rose pretends like it's all perfectly wonderful and she couldn't be more pleased for her friend. Yet it hurts still, though she hides it with the practiced ease of years.

"That's simply marvelous, Gwen," Rose says, still with that smile that hurts a little more each second she holds it. "I wish you all the best, and of course I'll visit you as often as I can."

"Oh naturally!" Gwen replies, that happy glow lighting up her entire face. Rose hasn't seen her so happy before, and it eases that pain in her chest just a little.

"But on to you; I'm determined to find out what you've been up to this past week!"

Rose wants to speak of her encounter with the king even less than before. It seems so utterly insignificant now that one of her closest friends is leaving. What should it matter if she met a king, a prince, or an emperor? But she simply must keep up appearances – Gwen can't know how she's truly feeling.

"I met someone," Rose whispers, leaning in with a put-on, conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "In the forest, perhaps a fortnight ago."

Gwen perches on the edge of her seat, only the tips of her toes touching the floor as if she'll spring up to dance around any moment. "And?" Gwen prods, face alight with anticipation and something akin to mischievousness. Hope, Rose realizes, hope for her. Gwen wants to see her as happy as she is.

Rose's heart does that little squeeze again, but she tells Gwen everything.

"I was chasing the White Stag. You heard the rumors it was sighted, didn't you?" At Gwen's nod, Rose continues, "It was just for fun. We all need to chase fairy tales every now and then, don't we?"

"Of course," Gwen agrees, resting her chin on her hands, elbows propped up on her knees.

"I wasn't the only one, it seems. I ran into the king – well, technically he ran into me. And…I don't know what came over me, but I think I teased him, and we just talked, not much, just back and forth a little. I left soon – I didn't want to miss dinner – but Gwen, now I can't stop thinking about it." Rose surprises herself with the last admission. She's barely admitted it to herself, and now with Gwen's news she was even less inclined to admit it. But now she has, and Gwen is smiling a smile that says she knows something Rose does not.

"And?" Gwen asks, cocking an eyebrow as she stares Rose down and taps a frantic rhythm on the floor with her toes.

"And nothing," Rose says, with a small little shrug. "I obviously haven't seen him since. It was only a peculiar sort of meeting, a fun story to tell."

Rose is determined to believe such, especially after one mere meeting of minutes, especially because there's little use in growing attached to people when they end up leaving anyways. Yet Gwen was and is worth the heartache. But the king is not even an acquaintance, much less a dear friend. There's no use in assigning anything more to the encounter than what it was – a strange occurrence.

"Perhaps," Gwen says, lips quirking upward into a deeper smile, still with that same secretive twist.

"Gwen, it was nothing," Rose laughs, doing her best to ignore everything else but this precious time with Gwen who may be leaving far too soon. "A strange meeting, that's all. Don't look at me so."

Gwen's smiles spreads yet wider, and Rose barely resists the urge to smack Gwen's drumming fingers. "Stop that, Gwen."

"I only want what's best for you," Gwen chirps innocently. "Time will well if that includes His Royal Majesty."

Rose swats at Gwen's arm, heat spreading across her cheeks. "I'll never meet him again, you goose. Don't be silly."

Gwen's smile never falters. "Time will tell, Rose."


	6. Chapter 5

**More than a little late, yes... Apologies for the holiday slump. I'm extending the update schedule to every week and a half, but other than that we should be back on track.**

 **Thanks so much to Fair Echo for a very motivating review! I hope you enjoy the new chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 5  
(** **Rose)**

A month, then two, then three came and went, and Rose expected to have forgotten all about her meeting with the king by the coming of spring. She was rather set on forgetting him, in fact – Gwen and Arten are indeed moving away, to the city where they can both find work away from the stifling airs of Beruna. Gwen has a mere month left, during which she'll be married. The happy event is, for Rose, a bitter reminder that another dear person is leaving. Rose convinced herself she wanted little to do with the king; royalty are naturally very busy and must do a lot of leaving.

Then the day came where a proclamation was issued, and in Beruna's town square there stands a crier with news that makes Rose's heart do a strange little skip.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" shouts the brightly-garbed young man, unrolling a scroll with a superfluous flourish. "On this day a fortnight hence there shall be held at the castle of King Caspian the Tenth, a royal ball – whereupon the king shall find a lady of his choosing to begin courtship." A murmur rises from the gathered villagers, and Rose wonders about the king's choice before she can stop herself. The princess of Galma, perhaps?

"Further more," the crier continues, "every maiden in the kingdom, be she noble or commoner, is invited to attend."

Cheers radiate through the square as the women and girls all clasp each others' hands. A royal ball, open to all the maidens in the kingdom? Commoners too? Something warm takes root in Rose's chest. Vague notions of the stone castle lit with torches and hung with festive banners, of a grand ballroom sparkling with magic and beautiful music dance through her mind's eye. The crier says something about provided transportation, but Rose barely hears the rest.

She could see him again. She shouldn't, oh she shouldn't, it's not wise at all – but she wants to. And Father will make well and sure she goes anyway.

Rose freezes, her skip home suddenly brought to a halt. Father. He'll be determined that she catches the king's attention. He'll want to use it – use her, use him, use the whole thing. She doesn't want their next meeting to be like that.

Rose finishes the walk home with a heavy heart, already decided. No, she can't go, not if she can help it. The king shouldn't have to deal with her father's greed and conniving.

Medias is waiting for her when she gets home. He smiles sadly like her, as if he knows everything she's thinking. Father, the king, the ball. Everything. He opens his arms as she walks in the front door, his eyes heavy and sorry.

"I can't go, Medias," she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder. "I won't."

"I know, little bird," he murmurs into her hair.

"At least Father doesn't know about the forest," Rose says, breathing deep against the lump in her throat and the itching in her eyes.

Medias tightens his arms around her. "And he won't."

Rose stays still and lets her brother comfort her, for much longer than she's allowed since Isi left. Today, she doesn't mind feeling a little heart-sore and a little let down. Medias has seen far bigger displays from Mother before; what's a hug in relation to all he's seen?

Blinking, Rose is shocked at the wetness on her eyelashes and on Medias's shirt beneath her cheek. She hasn't cried in so long, why cry now? It's only a ball, only one person she met once in the forest. It's nothing, it should be nothing. Oh, why is it not nothing? Her heart is twisting, and she doesn't want to understand why. He's only a man, only an acquaintance. Not even that really. And Telmara is hardly a magical place. The castle can't be that enthralling. Rose can more than make do with her imagination, born from Isi's stories.

"Father wouldn't have to know," Medias says, breaking the quiet Rose was settling into. "You could still go, and I could find some excuse for you."

Rose shakes her head before he's finished. "I can't, Medias. Don't you see? I don't want to be pawn; I can't. Not going spites him more." Rose's chest contracts, her heart thumping a beat faster. "I'm not risking it."

"But suppose he didn't know," Medias presses on, his weight of his cheek gone from Rose's head. "You could go and see him, and Father could think you didn't. He'd expect nothing then."

Rose smiles a pinched sort of smile against her brother's shoulder. "And you think no other girls from Beruna would be there? Someone would recognize me, and word would get out. I don't want to handle something like that. And I'm sure the king doesn't either."

Medias rubs gentle circles on her back with his palm. The familiar touch soothes away some of the disappointment.

"Besides, I'm only a girl from Beruna," Rose mumbles into her brother's shirt. "Nothing could come of it anyway. He probably doesn't even remember me."

The small weight of Medias' cheek returns to the crown of her head. "I think he does, little bird. I don't think he's met many girls chasing a stag."

Rose breathes out a laugh. "Perhaps not. Or perhaps he has; you never know what adventures kings have."

"Or girls from Beruna."

Rose doesn't really believe him, but the words warm her just the same.

* * *

"Rose! Rose, you'd best come here!"

At her mother's frantic call, Rose startles from her perch reading an old astronomy book of Isi's and rushes over, her book forgotten on the floor of her room. When she rounds the corner, there stands her mother, Father at her side with an especially calculating gleam in his eye.

"My beautiful daughter," he says, and all the hairs on the back of Rose's neck stand up at once. She knew this was coming, but she hoped desperately for longer than a day. "You will be our key to a better life."

"Ours or yours?" Rose snaps her mouth shut, wisdom and fear compelling her into silence. She knows better than to talk back, especially when Father has a new scheme in mind.

But Father just laughs, as if she's said nothing at all of consequence. Rose wants little more than to disappear.

"See it how you like. Regardless, you will be the king's wife within the month."

So there it is. Rose wishes desperately for Medias, for his strength behind her. She's always strong, but standing up to her father on her own is a gamble with bad odds.

"I don't think so," Rose makes herself say, though she braces for an ugly reply. "Kings marry princesses, not commoners."

Father's face darkens, but he doesn't spew out threats just yet. "Kings change their minds every day. You will change his mind."

Rose straightens her spine, gritting her teeth as she faces her father eye-to-eye. "I'm not going to the ball, Father. It would accomplish nothing."

Father's face is reddens, his next words rumbling into the room as he stalks toward her. "You will go, you will find the king, and you will be his wife. You can't refuse, Rose."

Shivers dance over Rose's skin, but she thinks of the man she met in the woods, the one who chased a fairy tale just to help his people. Surely she can stand up to her own father for his sake. And for hers.

"I am refusing you," Rose whispers. She wants to have more force behind her voice, but it won't come just yet. Again, she wishes for Medias. "I'm not going."

Her head snaps to the side, her left ear ringing. Her hand flies up to cover her cheek, itchy and burning with the heat of Father's rage.

"When the carriages come, I will see to it you are the first in Beruna to enter them," Father snarls in her ringing ear. Then he stomps away, and the door slams behind him.

Rose trembles. She isn't sure if the tears in her eyes are of anger or shock, but she forces them away just the same. She's not going, not for anything. Not when he's so desperate to use her like a chess piece. He may be able to buy his way into the mayor's good graces, but she won't make it easier for him to do the same with the king. Not that the king would fall for anything of the sort, but Rose would rather keep her father far away. Let him minimize his damage to one town.

More importantly, her chance meeting with the king belongs to her. The memory of the king is hers to cherish. Rose will not taint it with her father's ploys.

Her mother flutters careful hands around Rose's face, apologizing and asking if she's all right. Rose nods mutely, shaking her head a little to clear it.

"I'm all right, Mama," she says, ignoring the tremors deep in her chest. "I'm all right." At least, she will be.

* * *

Medias is furious when he returns and sees the welt on her cheek. Rose tries to tell him it's nothing, that it's not worth getting in a row over, but Medias tracks down Father anyway. Both of them have dark circles over one eye when they return, and they don't speak. Father doesn't disown Medias, but it's only because Medias gets along with the mayor and his family much more than Father ever can.

It's a terrible time at dinner that night, and even Rose's mother can't smooth things over. Thankfully, Father leaves before his plate is half empty for the taverns. Medias relaxes much more after he's gone, and asks Rose for the tenth time if she's all right.

"Are you well, little bird?" he asks. "You don't have to be, you know."

"I'm fine, Medias," Rose answers, squeezing his hand. "Really." Her cheek has gained a purplish tint, but she's as determined as ever not to go and that's enough for her.

Mother speaks up suddenly, with the last words Rose expects to hear. "You should go with the others, when the carriages come."

Medias looks at Mother as if she's just committed treason, but Rose just shakes her head sadly. She knows, understands, why Mother would suggest such a thing.

"Will his anger be greater if I go and fail or if I don't go at all?" Rose answers, her cheek throbbing. She knows which, and Mother does too. Silence reigns.

Medias breaks it. "There's no difference," he snaps, eyes flashing.

Mother looks as if she wants very much to agree with her son, but the words that she says don't quite line up. "Rose, just promise me to think about it. I don't want to see him hit you again."

Rose laughs, a dry scratchy thing that sounds much harsher than she means it to. "He'll hit me either way, Mother. Medias is right, there's no difference."

Medias turns to her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He won't hit you again. I'll see to that."

Across the table, Mother seems waifish and small and yet lit from within by that fiery spit of hope Rose inherited. Their eyes meet, a kernel of an idea crystallizing.

"I'll think about it," Rose finally says. Medias's hand tightens on her shoulder. "But I won't promise anything."

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

Ironhoof knows.

Caspian loses more spars than ever after the fateful council meeting, and Ironhoof has no qualms about laying out exactly why that must be.

"Every maiden in the kingdom. Not so very subtle, Your Majesty," says Ironhoof with his blade to Caspian's chest.

Caspian spins away and their swords meet in a deafening clang of steel on steel. "I have to see her again. I don't even know her name. And another trip to Beruna is out of the question right now." Caspian jumps back and tries to find good footing, but his balance falters.

"Precisely. You know nothing about her." Now Ironhoof presses forward, driving Caspian back so quickly he almost loses his balance.

"Yet," Caspian counters, "I intend to find out as much as I can. I don't know of many young women who go around chasing White Stags." The blades flash before his eyes in a mesmerizing dance of silver, and Caspian strikes an offensive blow towards the centaur's shoulder.

"And I suppose you've worked out what she wanted from it?" Ironhoof bats Caspian's sword away with a disapproving frown. "Or is that yet another mystery you're determined to solve?"

Caspian doesn't know why she was after the stag, and he admits as much. Ironhoof twists his mouth into a dissatisfied scowl.

"So you nothing at all about her, and yet your head's been turned." Ironhoof takes a particularly strong swing at Caspian's sword arm, and Caspian stumbles back several steps. Ironhoof is right, of course, but Caspian wants to see her again before he makes up his mind to forget her.

"Yet," Caspian says, breathless with the force of the duel. "I know nothing of her _yet_."

Ironhoof ends the spar with a quick flick of his blade, sending Caspian's sword flying out of his reach. Caspian scowls at the blade pressing against his neck – again.

"Then I suppose we should hope she comes to this ball. Supposing you could even find her in the crowd, that is."

Caspian feels like a fool, but he's sure he could pick the girl out of the largest crowd in the world.


	7. Chapter 6

**Late but it's here! The next chapter is my fav, so if I can manage an early update it's definitely happening!**

 **And of course, thank you to Fair Echo for another review :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 6  
(** **Rose)**

The time flew quickly by, and before Rose could quite resign to the idea of life without Gwen in it every day, the carriages arrive just after dawn.

Medias finds her at Gwen's, panting as he runs up with Fe in tow. "Looks like it's time for you to disappear, little bird," he says, as he shoves the reins into her hands.

"I'm ever so sorry, Rose." Gwen helps her onto her horse, but Rose doesn't miss the regret in her friend's eyes. "I do wish you could see him again."

Rose puts on her best smile and shrugs as if it – as if he – means little to her. As he should. "It's nothing, Gwen. I'm sure balls are dreadfully dull and boring any how."

With misty eyes she pretends aren't so, Rose turns Fe away from town and races off to the woods, just as the echo of her father's yell reaches her ears. He'll be furious, yes, but he can do little with the whole of town out and watching. He can't do anything until she comes home for the evening, and even so he'll have to behave at least a little. He's a reaching, manipulative father, but he's not outwardly violent. Well, rarely.

Rose leans down against Fe's neck as the horse races through the trees, face turned in to avoid the sting of the tips of branches. Her cheek still aches a little from Father's temper – no need to add to it.

Just this once, Rose is glad for her father's habit of frequenting the tavern. He overslept today, and she'd never have gotten away otherwise.

When she's deep into the forest, well out of sight and lost to anyone who doesn't know the woods as well as she does, Rose lets Fe slow to a steady walk. She doesn't have a particular destination in mind, only to stay here among the trees until the carriages are long gone, too long gone for Father to have a prayer of getting her on them. She'll stay away until nighttime, when he'll be too angry to wait for her any longer and ale becomes his balm.

When Rose takes stock of her surroundings, she finds that she's right on the outskirts of the field around the How. Her insides begin to hurt, and she's almost overwhelmed by the memory of a black horse rearing and a king with gentle eyes apologizing for almost running her over. How odd it was that he had called her "my lady," as if she were some noblewoman. Simple politeness, perhaps? Rose convinces herself it was just so, a mere courtesy just like his apology. Nothing special, nothing to hold close to her heart and treasure.

Rose brings Fe to a halt just beyond the trees bordering the plain and dismounts, bound and determined to think of that strange meeting no more. No more kings, and no more of this fluttering feeling in her stomach when she thinks of the one she met. Only distant politeness, the vague memory of a fantastic accident that meant nothing to either of them. Just a simple accident.

Banishing the king who told her she shouldn't be so far into the forest alone, the king who smiled at her teasing, who asked for her name though he had little reason for doing so, is so much easier thought than done. Against her will, Rose hears what he wanted most echoing in her mind.

"Only peace," he'd said. "Peace for a kingdom in sore need of it."

Nothing for himself, only for his people. Rose knows for a fact Miraz wasn't like that, and she isn't sure many kings in general are. But not this one. King Caspian put the needs of his people above anything else he may have wanted.

Rose jerks, her palms suddenly cool and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. That's the first time she's actually thought his name, without anything else but "king" attached to it. On a wild, strange, stupid impulse, she says the name all by itself, aloud in the meadow in front of the How.

"Caspian," her voice says, and it startles her how easily the name rolls off her tongue. An absurd laugh bubbles up in her throat. Calling the king by his name, and only his name – what a foolish idea! She can't help but laugh at the absurdity, leaning against Fe's shoulder as she revels in her foolishness.

The grey horse bumps her with her nose, and Rose tries to stop her laughter. There's nothing funny about this whole thing, but she can't seem to stop. It's only a name, only a name for a man who happens to rule the kingdom. Just a name, that's all.

Rose claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the absurdity, and it helps a little. Caspian. She wonders how many people he allows to call him Caspian, just Caspian without any of his titles. Not many, she supposes. Surely only those closest to him.

Breathing deeply, she dispels the rest of her amusement and buries her face in Fe's mane. The familiar smell of horse and forest calms her, almost makes her forget why she's here in the first place.

"I'm never going to see him again, Fe," she whispers. Her throat tightens, but she tries to breathe it away. "That's all right. It's how it should be."

Fe shifts and lowers her muzzle to the ground, eager for the taste of the fresh grass spring has brought. Rose moves her head to Fe's withers and runs her fingers through any of the mane she can reach, working away tangles with a practiced ease.

"We never should have met, really."

Rose's fingers get caught in a particularly stubborn knot, and she wishes she'd brought Fe's comb. Isi had made it.

The time passes slowly in the meadow. Fe seems more than content to munch the day away, and Rose works through all the tangles in her mane. The sun is barely at high noon when Fe's mane is smooth and shiny. Rose decides to do her best to clean the dirt of the ride off. Her hands get filthy, but it's something to pass the time. She just wants the day to be over, so she can go to bed and forget all about the carriages and the ball and the king. Rose has to fight not to think of him by his name again.

It'll be much easier if she thinks of him as the king, just the king. Not Caspian, not even King Caspian. Just the king, as if he's a distant monarch in some distant castle on some distant throne – a person she's never met and never will. She only needs to forget about the whole thing, and in time it'll be nothing more than a strange forgotten thing.

At least, that's what she hopes.

Eventually, the sun starts to set in the sky. Rose is unspeakably bored by then, and exhausted from trying to forget the king. In a rush, she doesn't want to go home tonight. She wants to see Gwen, wants to pretend they're years younger and marveling at a Lion who turned a classroom into a forest glen, that their worst troubles are school bullies.

Rose wonders if it's too late to pay a visit for the evening, but then she remembers what Gwen told her years ago. Always welcome, that was the promise they had made. No matter what, one would always be welcome with the other. So she coaxes Fe to stop her munching and jumps onto her back, urging her back toward Beruna. After one last mouthful of grass, Fe complies, and Rose flattens herself against Fe's neck once more even though she's only cantering.

Rose doesn't know what she's feeling when Beruna comes back into sight and all is quiet. With so any of the young women gone, the town is a much quieter place. Only the noise of the tavern leaks into the evening air, and even that is muted from distance. Rose is moments from knocking on Gwen's door when she remembers. Gwen is gone too. Arten thought the ball would be a good diversion, and a good way to see the city before they moved there outright.

Rose's hand falls back to her side and her vision swims with unshed tears. That dreadful feeling of abandonment sinks into her heart, even though she knows Gwen will be back in a few days and it isn't fair of her to feel this way. But she still finds herself curling into the tightest ball she can manage, pressing against Gwen's door and trying not to cry. She'd almost forgotten how much she hates the feel of sadness, of feeling so alone.

After far too long, Rose rubs away her tears with the heel of her hand and gets to her feet. Composing herself, she walks home on unsteady legs, Fe in tow. Light shines from the back door, and Rose isn't sure who's awake waiting for her return. She hopes dearly it's Medias, but her heart skips at the more likely idea it's her father. He may have forgone the tavern in favor of telling her exactly what he thinks of her little escapade today.

Rose ignores it for as long as she can. She gives Fe a well-deserved rub down and brush before putting her up for the night and making sure she has plenty of food and water. She takes as long as possible, but far too soon Fe is bedded down and there's nothing left to do but go inside.

"You're back."

Rose sighs in relief and joins her brother at the kitchen table. "Where's Father?"

Medias gives her a lopsided smile, his long form slumped over the worn wood. "Off at the taverns. He wasn't happy with you, but the ale has a call of its own."

"Thank the stars for that." Rose tries to smile, but it falls flat and she ends up staring down at her hands, folded on the table.

A larger and warmer hand covers both of hers. "How are you, little bird?"

Rose shrugs, trying to summon the same blasé attitude of this morning. Medias's hand squeeze hers.

"I'd only met him once, Medias. I'm quite all right."

When she glances up, Medias is looking at her with a sad sort of heaviness in his gaze, as if he doesn't believe her. Rose tries to smile once more, and this time her lips curve upward just a little.

"It's only a ball," she whispers, wishing she could mean it so much more. She just needs time, that's all. Time to forget and regain some perspective. It was only one meeting, and Caspian is the king.

Medias smiles too, a brief flickering little thing that must be more for her benefit than his. He may not believe she doesn't care about the ball or seeing the king again, but at least he believes she won't given time.

Rose clears her throat, trying to look and feel much braver than she is. "When will Father be back, do you think?"

Medias shrugs. "Not for a long while. Though you should leave with the dawn, just in case."

Rose agrees, and then she goes to bed. Medias tucks her in, though he hasn't done that for years, and for some reason she lets him.

"Goodnight, little bird," he whispers against her forehead.

"Goodnight," she whispers back. She doesn't let him see, but her pillow is wet with tears in the morning.

* * *

Rose leaves for the How at dawn, just as Medias suggested. It's a lonely ride, and she doesn't push Fe very fast, never goes over a trot the whole way. The ball is tonight, but riding faster into the forest won't change it. Besides, Fe did more than her fair share of galloping yesterday.

"We're in no rush today," Rose whispers. Her eyes mist a little, but she blinks her vision clear.

Fe snorts, almost as if she can understand. Perhaps she does – horses can be remarkably perceptive, after all. The notion soothes the pangs in Rose's heart a little, so she indulges in it.

Riding so close to that fateful meeting spot isn't so difficult as it was yesterday. In time she will forget him, as he has surely forgotten her. Only a meeting, barely above a dream.

Rose repeats the mantra the whole of the day, passing the boredom of being so far out from town alone through the repetition and exploring whenever it strikes her fancy. The How has good ledges for climbing, though some part are a bit unstable due to the havoc from the Second Battle of Beruna. The marks of catapults are everywhere. Rose spends hours running her fingers over every one, counting the land's scars for lack of something better to do.

Eventually, dusk arrives. Rose admires the streaks of pink and orange in the sky, the silhouette of the trees against it. Watching sunsets or sunrises with Isi used to be one of her favorite things. She hasn't done it much of late, but now Rose may have to pick up the habit again. It's soothing.

"Excuse me, dear."

"Oh!" Rose yelps and whips around, jumping from the ledge she was perching on in her fright. A tinkling laugh echoes behind her, from the spot she was just occupying. Heart racing, Rose looks back at the ledge to see a most peculiar sight – the figure of a very young woman, nearly covered by swirling ribbons that seem to be made of light.

"Don't be frightened!" the figure says, a wide smile spreading over her luminous features. "Goodness, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

Rose stands, mouth agape as she balances on the smaller ledge that caught her. "What are you?" she gasps, both her palms are pressed to her heart. "Who are you?"

The young woman laughs that same bell-ish laugh, and Rose is hard-pressed not to laugh along with her.

"I'm quite surprised you don't know. You've heard many stories about me and my kind, after all."

"Your kind?" Rose echoes. Kind, what kind? She remembers tales of fauns and centaurs and ancient kings and queens.

The ribbons around the woman brighten as she regards Rose with a quirked eyebrow and no small amount of amusement. "I'm your faerie godmother, of course. Don't you remember? Everyone has one."

Rose's mouth hangs slack again. "Faerie godmother? But those aren't real, they're just – "

"Fairy tales!" The supposed faerie godmother flaps her hands, and the ribbons move with her, the circle they make jutting out where her hands wave. "I thought you were a chaser of fairy tales, hm?"

Rose swallows, wrapping her arms loosely around her torso. "That was a long time ago."

"It was mere months ago, and don't you say it wasn't because I know it was. You and the king had quite the conversation about that." This faerie godmother rubs her hands together, palm to palm, while something akin to glee radiates from her.

"Wha – how did you know about that?" Rose is far too shocked to argue. She distinctly does not remember any faerie godmothers following her about when she met the king.

"Magic, of course," the faerie chirps. "I know an awful lot about you, Rose."

"Then perhaps you'd be kind enough to give me your name? It's only polite," Rose says, the words slipping off her tongue before she can think better of them.

The faerie skips back a step – or does she float? "Oh of course, how forgetful of me! I'm Bashar." The faerie completes the introduction with an overdone curtsy laden with flourishes.

Rose swallows hard, a grin overtaking her lips. "It's a lovely name."

Bashar and her ribbons flush pink as she stands taller, puffing out her chest and beaming down at Rose. She's beyond flattered; Bashar is outright preening. "Why yes," she says. "I think so too."

Rose can only stare. Her faerie godmother, showing up out of nowhere. "Why are you here, if you don't mind my asking," Rose queries with an uncertain tremor in her voice.

Bashar snaps to attention, preening desisted for the moment. "Don't you know? You've got to get to that ball, and I'm going to see to it that you do."


	8. Chapter 7

**I don't really have any notes, so just enjoy this happily on-time update!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7  
(** **Rose)**

Rose wrings her hands, swallowing against the sudden urge to flee. She shifts from foot to foot, and glances back to see Fe resting her hind leg casually, the picture of nonchalance.

Smoothing away the wrinkles in her skirt, Rose meets Bashar's smile with a frown. "Did my father send you?" Rose asks the strange faerie before her.

Bashar screws up her face and swipes her tongue over her front teeth. "Of course not. Questionable character aside, your father is not the sort of person who believes in faeries, much less faerie godmothers."

Rose relaxes, her spine and legs loosening from their preparation for a sprint. Perhaps it's all right then. But faerie godmothers are supposed to be a mere bedtime story, and apparently not one she even remembers.

"Enough of that!" Bashar bursts, brushing her palms against each other as if brushing away the topic. "We've got to get you ready for that ball." Her ribbons pulsing with light, she zips around Rose, the happy flit of her scrutiny searing through Rose's caution.

Struggling to cling to sense, Rose protests in spite of the wild bloom of reckless hope stirring in her chest. "But faerie godmother," says Rose, "I don't want to go to the ball. I can't. Surely you know that." Rose steps away from the glowing ball of optimism, her father's threats echoing in her ears.

The faerie clicks her tongue and throws a bright blue ribbon around Rose, tugging until Rose's arms are pinned to her sides and her father's voice dissipates into the evening air. "Rose, you asked for my name. Do use it, else why did you bother asking for it?"

The ribbon is warm and unrelenting, pouring the promise of one night she can call her own deep into Rose's bones. Rose laughs, a breathy thing that tickles at her throat. "I'm sorry. But Bashar, I mean it. I'm not going."

Bashar waves away her words as if waving away a pesky little gnat. "Well of course you're going, silly goose! You can't miss the king, can you?"

Clinging still to one last vestige of logic, Rose protests for the final time. "My father –"

"Oh never mind him, I can help with that." Bashar flicks away the ribbon, but the warmth of a secret night of escape lingers. "Now come on, I need a pumpkin."

Rose stands perfectly still with scrunched up brows as Bashar swoops down from the How's ledge and speeds off toward the forest. "Pumpkin?" she repeats. A smile tugs at her chapped lips as her brows soften.

"Yes yes, a pumpkin! You do have those around here, don't you?" Bashar throws her left arm behind her, and quick as lightning one of her little light ribbons – a green one this time – wraps around Rose's wrist and tugs her gently off the ledge, guiding her to the ground as light as a whisper.

A laugh laden with a thousand dreams bubbles in Rose's throat. "Why do you need a pumpkin?"

Bashar soldiers on, flying faster as Rose's feet skim the ground beneath. "You simply must have a carriage, Rose. Your dress would be ruined otherwise. Oh! No, not that." Bashar stoops down to examine a pinecone, but quickly pulls back and continues on, her ribbon loosening around Rose's wrist. "You really don't have many pumpkins around these parts, do you?"

Rose's mouth flaps open, then closed. A pumpkin carriage?

But without Bashar's ribbon, her father's voice floats back into her mind and roots her to the spot, staring down at the forgotten pine cone.

"Bashar, wait!" Rose finally says, reaching out for the ribbon and tugging back with a good amount of force. Bashar stumbles, and whips around with a perturbed scowl.

"Come now Rose, I know better than anyone how much you want to go. No need to worry with your father, I've said I can take care of that." Bashar smiles, a luminous thing through her ribbons. "Trust me."

"But, but," Rose stutters, digging in her heels out of sheer stubbornness as Bashar turns to take off again. "People will find out one way or another. Someone else from Beruna is bound to recognize me. Gwen's going, for heaven's sake!"

Bashar, mercifully, stops again, the surprising picture of patience. "My dear, don't you think if I can make a carriage out of a pumpkin I can work a little magic and keep anyone from recognizing you?"

"Then why should I go, if I'm only going to see the king again?" Rose cries, allowing her self-preservation to push aside her hope. Why can't this whole ball to be over and done with so she can forget all about it?

A second ribbon tickles Rose's free hand, a gentle invitation. "He'll recognize you, don't you worry." Bashar glances back and Rose catches a glimpse of a wink. "Honestly, not a single pumpkin! And I refuse to stoop to using rocks for transportation. It's unseemly!" The moment Rose takes the ribbon, the faerie zips off again, searching for something she surely won't find.

"How can you manage all that?" Rose presses on, even as the ribbons tug her along ever faster. "That's impossible."

"Magic, Rose," Bashar snaps, almost impatient. "Goodness, you're quite stubborn, aren't you?" The warmth from the ribbons grows until the slight chill of the impending night is a distant memory.

The ribbon tugs on Rose's wrist a little harder. Rose stumbles, but the seductive hope builds in her chest again, pushing out the sadness there. Magic, of course! Didn't she follow a stag she didn't even know was real looking for a reason to believe?

"Oh to the devil with it, it'll have to be that blasted pinecone!" Bashar spins around and starts off back toward Rose, the ribbons guiding Rose to her side.

"I've never seen a pinecone carriage before," Rose offers. A pinecone carriage might do her well – it'll be simple, unexpected, and blend in with the woods when it's time to go.

Bashar brightens, her ribbons glowing more fiercely in the fading light of the setting sun. "Now's as good a time as any to see one, don't you think? I'll do my best to keep those awful prickly bits on the outside. We can't ruin your dress, now can we?"

Rose doesn't have any suitable dress, for of course Father didn't think to provide that sort of thing. She tells the faerie so, but Bashar just waves her concern away as if Rose really is the slowest learner in the world.

"You'll be well dressed, my dear. Never fear!" Bashar halts suddenly, stooping down with a small groan. "Ah, here we are. One, rather small but intact, pinecone. Ouch – oh oh!" The faerie yanks her wispy hand back, retreating back inside her ribbon shell. "Definitely have to dull those spikes."

"Here, shall I get it?" Rose starts to lean down, but another ribbon – a sea-foam teal – beats her to the small task.

"No no, I've got it now. Just a bit mean around the edges, that's all." And they're off again, but Rose actually makes an effort to keep up this time. Faerie godmother, of all the things…

Bashar takes her back to the plain, whereupon she sets the pinecone back on the ground and releases Rose from her welcome ribbon tethers. With one graceful flick and a strange uttering in a language Rose has never heard, the faerie snaps the ribbon and taps the pinecone straight on with it. At once, sparks fly from them both.

The pinecone begins to shake and Rose stares, transfixed and terrified to look away and miss something. Slowly it begins to grow, letting off sparks of gold and silver all the while. Now it's as tall as her knee – now her hip, now her shoulder. While Rose stands with her mouth agape for the fifth time this night, the pinecone bursts into a great silver and gold thing, with little flake-type designs on the side hearkening back to its humble beginnings. Nearly twice as tall as Rose herself, there now stands a carriage before her, glittering in the last fading light from the sun. A gasp tumbles from her mouth as happy tears prick at her eyes.

"Magic," Rose whispers, reaching out a hand toward the new carriage reverently. "You really are a faerie!" In hindsight, it's a ridiculously obvious statement, enough that Rose flushes from her silliness.

Bashar rolls her eyes, and yet with a grin. "That took you long enough. Honestly, Rose, it's as if you never listened to Isi's tales at all."

Laughing, Rose barely realizes that the stitch in her heart whenever Isi is brought up isn't there. "I listened, but I suppose I didn't quite believe in them until now."

"No need for that now, is there?" Bashar grins out from behind her light ribbons, and Rose can't help but return it. She covers her mouth with two hands and gapes openly at the kind of wondrous transformation Isi would have loved to witness herself.

"Now then, where has that horse of yours gone off to?" Bashar spins around twice before catching sight of Fe, still relaxed by the grass. "Ah, here we are. Fe!"

The horse snaps awake at once, ears perked and eyes bright. Rose can hardly believe her eyes as Fe trots up happily, as if she and Bashar are old friends. Fe never comes so easily for her. Perhaps it's a faerie specialty.

Another wave of a ribbon and more words in that unfamiliar language, and Fe's skittering over toward the carriage, silver sparks dancing off her coat. Then Rose is sure she's losing her mind, because there are two Fe's prancing into place in front of the carriage. No, four! Four elegant grey horses with reins and bridles in brilliant silver and gold, a beautiful echo back to the design of the carriage. One snorts from its newfound place, stray sparkles shooting from its nostrils.

"Perfect!" Bashar claps her hands in delight and bounces, while Rose can only laugh in disbelief.

"She – they – they're beautiful!" Rose sighs through her fingers. "How did you – oh yes, magic. I feel absolutely foolish for not believing now."

Bashar preens again, and spins once on a particularly long bounce. "That's not even everything! Have you seen any rabbits, perchance?"

"Rabbits?" What could the faerie have in store for rabbits?

"Footmen, of course!" Bashar declares, ribbons pulsing wildly around her form. "You need two." As luck would have it, Bashar catches sight of two rabbits on the far end of the meadow. Though they're too far away for Rose to see, the faerie's ribbon reaches out with ease and plucks them from the ground as she murmurs that language again, and as quickly as Fe became four Fe's two footmen with slightly too-large front teeth stand next to the carriage, one of them fumbling with a pocket watch and the other still twitching his nose.

"How fine you look," Rose murmurs, her smile threatening to burst off her face as she takes them in, all white tailed coats and buck teeth and small, bright little eyes and ears just a trifle too big.

"And now for the driver!" Bashar's next choice comes the quickest of them all. "Ah, that'll do!" This time, Bashar's ribbon taps a field mouse, and then the driver is perched on the seat with silver reins in hand, chittering dramatically that it's only a mouse and surely it can't be expected to drive a team of horses.

"Don't be silly," says Bashar. "I haven't got anyone else. You'll be just fine, Sir Mouse. Now Rose, it's your turn!"

"My turn?"

"You can't very well go in that, now can you?"

Rose looks down at her rather simple, rather ragged dress. It's perfectly all right for escapades in the woods, but it's no ball gown. She nods, her breath stilling as she waits to see what new magic Bashar will come up with. A gold gown? Silver? Both? Rose's spine shivers with warm anticipation, and she bites her lip on an absurd giggle.

All of a sudden, she gets the strangest idea. Surely Bashar has something else planned, but it flies from her lips anyway and as soon as it's spoken she doesn't want to take it back.

"Blue," Rose blurts, fiddling with a stray thread on her sleeve. "Can you make my dress blue?" Her voice falters, softening from determination to wistful remembrance. "It was Isi's favorite color."

Bashar softens too, and the very color Rose has requested dances across her outer ribbons. "Of course I can, my dear. I think she'd like that very much indeed."

Another flick of the ribbon, another incantation, and the tip reaches Rose's skirt. No silver or gold dances from the contact, but only blue. A deep, royal blue, with highlights of baby blue, sky blue, even a pale violet. The colors spread from that single point of contact, fanning out over the skirt with the gentleness of swan feathers. It dances up Rose's bodice, over her arms and over her shoulders. She holds her breath and tries not to blink; her skin tingles with warmth whenever the sparks touch it. On a mad impulse, Rose spins. Once, twice, thrice, and the whole while her skirt balloons out, ever fuller and ever covered in sparks and glitters.

Rose stills, looks down, and nearly faints. Robed in head to toe with shimmering blues, the gown is a vision. Unbidden, her eyes water. Isi would have loved this, even more than the carriage or the footmen or the mouse driver. Rose wishes for her aunt, because even if she abandoned her she still told her about magic and taught her what it meant to believe in something you thought you'd never see. And now Rose is seeing it.

"Magic is everywhere," Isi had said, with a smile Rose didn't quite understand at the time. "We only need the eyes for it."

"Thank you, Faerie Godmother," Rose whispers. Her hands ghost over the iridescent fabric that now swaths her. She's almost afraid to touch it, afraid it will all vanish if she makes the wrong move. Yet even if it did, just the memory of it would be enough.

Bashar smiles as radiant as the sun. "We can't forget your dancing shoes." Another wave, another murmur, and something soft but firm wraps around Rose's feet, raising her heels off the ground. They're the most wonderful things Rose has ever felt.

"There," Bashar says, clasping her hands in front of her mouth as her ribbons calm themselves at last. "I do believe you're ready."

"Bashar," Rose hurries to say, "thank you." She rushes up to the faerie – oh, the shoes are perfect, giving and supporting in exactly the right way so even running is comfortable – and flings her arms around the living proof that magic was real all along, that for all her faults Isi was right. "I couldn't have asked for better."

When Bashar returns the embrace, it's with her arms and her ribbons, so Rose is encased in pure light for breathtaking moments. Rose breathes in deeply, and she's flooded with the wild scent of daisies and morning dew and sunlight on new spring leaves.

 _Oh Isi, how I wish you could have seen this_.

Bashar is the one to break the embrace, and it's in a hurry. "Now go, you can't be late!"

Rose will surely be very late anyway – the castle is nearly half a day's hard ride from here, a day for a carriage – but then she looks at the faerie's handiwork, remembers how Bashar turned one horse into four and made footmen and a driver from rabbits and a mouse.

Bashar hustles Rose toward the carriage. The skirt is much, much wider than Rose's shoulders, but so light and airy that it feels as if she's in her normal dress, perhaps in something even thinner. Rose has one foot on the silvery carriage step when she suddenly remembers why she didn't want to go in the first place.

"What's the matter?" Bashar asks. "Oh dear, have I forgotten something?"

"My father?" Rose prods, her hands breaking out in clammy nerves. The warm metal doorframe isn't enough to chase the chill away.

"Ah yes!" A final snap of the ribbon, one that just brushes against the top of Rose's head, and Bashar smiles anew. "There. Now no one but that king of yours will recognize you."

Rose blushes furiously as she climbs into the carriage and sits on a velvet cushion, arranging her skirts even though she doesn't quite know what she's doing. "He's not my king," she murmurs as she finally wrangles the wispy fabric fully inside the carriage. "We've only met once."

Bashar winks, a ribbon reaching out and tickling Rose's chin. "After tonight, twice."

Then the carriage door is closing and Rose's heart is racing already, as fast as a woodpecker's wings.

"Rose!" Bashar jumps back into view, eyes wide and voice a high-pitched squeak. "I almost forgot! All of this can only last until dawn. Magic can only do so much, you know. I'm terribly sorry, but you'll have to leave by midnight if you want the magic to get you home in time."

"Midnight?" Rose smiles, broader than before. She hasn't stopped smiling since that pinecone became her carriage. "That's more than enough. Thank you."

Bashar relaxes and floats back from the carriage, her light reflecting off its gleaming surface . "Then off you go." And with a wink, the faerie blinks out of sight, vanishing into the air as if she were never there. But Rose is sitting in the proof she was, and listening to it, and wearing it. Sir Mouse snaps the reins, and just like that the carriage is tearing across the land at speeds Rose never imagined were possible. She's going to make it, she just knows she will.

She's going to see him again.

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

The king paces in his room, hands folded behind his back and formal shirt lying forgotten on the bed. With only an hour left before the ball, he's suddenly nervous. He's been pacing ever since the sky turned dark, and he's likely to continue pacing until he needs to leave for the ballroom. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Caspian strides to the windowsill and forces himself to sit, though his right foot refuses to stop its jittering.

What if she's here? What if she's not? Caspian clenches his hands tighter together and tries to breathe normally. He shouldn't be so nervous to see someone he's only met once before. She's just a girl from the forest.

No. She's _the_ girl from the forest.

A smile comes to his lips unbidden, and it stays there as stubborn as anything even though the odd fluttering in Caspian's stomach quickens. Lion, he hopes she'll be here. Though there will be thousands attending tonight, Caspian is somehow sure he'll find her if she comes. He couldn't miss her for the world. He can't.

Caspian finally stills, staring at his formal overshirt with that smile still pulling at his lips.

She'll be here. He just knows it.


	9. Chapter 8

**Here's one of my favorite chapters! I'm so sorry this took so long. Something about writing this was magical; hopefully that comes through. Enjoy!  
**

 **And of course, so many thank yous to Fair Echo for such sweet feedback!**

* * *

 **Chapter 8  
** **(Rose)**

What should be a carriage ride of a day and a change of horses takes mere hours. Rose presses her hands against her torso as the city grows ever larger before her. Not long now – she'll be inside the city in minutes, and then she'll be at the castle. Will the king even remember her? Naturally it's quite all right if he doesn't, though her stomach plummets at the idea. It wouldn't be fair to expect him to remember, of course it wouldn't. Kings are very busy, after all, and they must meet countless people every day.

She's just a girl from Beruna. Not that she can tell him that, or the spell will be worthless. It's just for tonight, just to get him out of her mind so she can continue on with her life as if all is normal. As if she never met him? No, perhaps not that. But perhaps as if he didn't affect her quite so much, as if it was a simple strange meeting to her and not a memory of compassion and vulnerability where she thought there could only be the cold aloofness of responsibility.

"Hold on, Miss Rose!" calls Sir Mouse, and then the carriage is rattling over the bridge into the city and through the cobblestone streets.

Rose clutches her skirts, the fabric softer than a baby's breath. How can they be at the castle already? For now Sir Rabbit is jumping down and opening her door, and Sir Mouse is apologizing for the bumpy ride and babbling that he's quite obviously never driven a carriage before.

"Miss Rose," says Sir Rabbit, extending his hand. It's a bit funny to see, a human hand that nevertheless reminds her very much of a rabbit paw – all short fingers and a much longer palm. Sir Rabbit smiles, flashing buckteeth far better for munching than talking.

"Thank you," Rose whispers, gathering her skirts with one hand as she takes Sir Rabbit's with the other. The carriage wobbles the barest bit as she steps out, and she marvels at it again when her two feet are firmly on the ground. "I'm so glad Isi was right," Rose murmurs.

She returns Sir Rabbit's encouraging smile and turns to see the castle before her. So many stairs, and two guards there at the door. Oh dear, was there an invitation she should have brought?

"Best go on now, Miss Rose," says Sir Mouse, startling Rose a bit as his voice breaks the quiet. "You might be a little late already."

Rose thanks him, thanks them all, takes a deep breath that trembles on both the inhale and the exhale. With a set chin, she begins the climb.

If she looks too far ahead she'll surely turn back, so Rose only focuses on each step. She just has to put one foot in front of the other, just ascend one more step. Slowly, the stairs lessen and lessen, and the castle doors are ever closer. She breathes deeply, reminding herself that it's quite all right to be nervous, that all the other girls are probably nervous themselves.

What if he does remember her?

Oh dear, she's not prepared for that contingency; what will she do if he does know her by sight? She's dismissed it from her thoughts for so long as foolishness. But oh, what if it's not? What if he remembers as well as she does? Her heart picks up a torrid pace again, stealing the calm brought by the expectation of oblivion.

The guards, two strong-armed centaurs, acknowledge her with simple dips of their heads and do nothing to stop her from passing. More precisely, they open the doors for her. Well, that's one relief at least. Rose tries to regain a steady breath, but it sticks to her throat and won't let go. Now that she's finally inside the castle, the nerves and the sheer grandeur of the place combine to keep her dizzy and awed.

The hallway alone is almost as wide as her whole house, and so tall she never feels as though the ceiling is closing in on her. Torches light the way, flickering merrily as if they know some delicious secret that all the world could never guess at. Rose admires their cheer, relishing in their warmth as she sweeps by. Her feet rush in spite of the pounding of her heart.

Those must be the doors, just at the top of more stairs. Rose puffs a little as she ascends, the cost of breathing too shallowly. Almost there, she's almost there. And still with no idea what to do if the king does somehow know who she is, does remember meeting her and says hello. Will she approach him if he doesn't?

Her hand shakes as she raps gently on the double doors, unsure if this in fact the best way to enter. They swing open at the first touch of her knuckles, and the murmurs of the ballroom flood over her. But then they stop, fading away gradually as if admiring some far-away thing. Slowly, many turn and then thousands of faces, some familiar but most of them complete strangers, are staring at her and she can't breathe again. Her heart leaps into her throat as she tries to remember what is proper to do.

A smile winds its way onto her lips, a lucky reflex. Slowly, she dips into a curtsy the best she knows how, almost losing her balance at the unfamiliar motion. Rose prays no one notices her wobble as she straightens. Her hand trembles as she sets it on the railing and lifts her skirts just enough to safely descend the stairs. Still silence, still no music or murmuring. Are they truly looking at her?

 _I'm only a girl_ , she wants to tell them. _I'm only a girl, don't stare at me as though I'm a princess._ But in a gown like this, she really does feel like royalty.

Her legs feel too loose as step after step disappears behind her. Rose prays that she won't fall and make a fool of herself, even prays that they'll turn around and go back to their business and stop staring.

Then, she sees him.

He sees her too, and their eyes meet across the room. He's just as she remembered him, though dressed in much nicer things than riding clothes. Blue, he's wearing blue. Blue and gold, but still blue. Rose's pulse thunders at the sight. What a happy coincidence.

He's walking over, making his way through the crowd which parts for him as easily as water for river rocks. And always, his eyes are on hers. Rose begins to worry she'll miss a step, but she can't seem to look away so she has to trust her feet and her hand on the rail to keep her steady – a much easier thing to think rather than do. Yet she doesn't fall, doesn't even quite stumble.

He's still making his way towards her, still staring into her eyes though there's half a room and countless people between them still. He remembers. What to do? Rose's heart stutters, her stomach swishing in her abdomen. Her hand clutches the railing a little tighter as she descends the final few steps. Her knees almost buckle at the feel of flat ground beneath her, and with the king mere paces away now the crowd clears between them as if by magic. Rose wills her legs to go on moving, to hold her upright as she walks toward him, bound by his gaze and still breathless as if she's some love-struck girl. But then, perhaps she is.

Then he's right before her, head tipped down just the slightest bit to keep their gazes connected.

"I hoped you might come," he murmurs, softer than she'd ever dared imagine his voice could be.

Rose's mouth is dry. What to say, what to say? What does one say to the king? Panic beckons, but the king's lips quirk into a gentle smile and the jitters accosting Rose's insides calm.

"You're late."

"Apologies, Your Majesty," she manages. Words at last! Hopefully he can't hear how her voice trembles. "My horse was afraid she might be run over."

The king smiles wider, and if she was bound to his gaze before now she's positively captive. "Caspian," he says.

She blinks up at him, and words fail her again. She looks for a moment - for a thousand moments - at his eyes, at the way he looks at her as if he's been waiting for her all night.

The king – _Caspian_ – wets his lips and hesitates, almost as if he's unsure of his next words. Impossible, surely. But no, his neck is tinged with pink, as are the tips of his ears.

"My lady," he murmurs, as if it were only the two of them in the whole of the world. "If I may, that is - " He swallows visibly, but then he squares his shoulders and seems steadier. "I would be greatly honored if you would allow me this dance. The first dance."

Now Rose is the one with pink on her skin. For the king of Narnia just stumbled over his words and maybe, just maybe, he's as lost in her as she is in him. Somehow, she finds the wherewithal to accept.

"Is it safe?" she whispers, a gleam in her eye.

"Shall we find out?"

Rose can only nod, a repetitive bobbing of her head that must look ridiculous.

Caspian's hand settles onto her waist, and the fluttery feeling sweeps back into her stomach. He smiles down at her as if he knows exactly what she's feeling – as if he feels it too. Looking into those deep brown eyes, Rose can believe he does.

The music starts, and then he's leading her through the most complicated dance of her life. What starts as a simple hand on her waist with no other point of connection between them becomes her hand on his chest, his heart beating warm and strong beneath her fingertips. Yet she only has moments to savor the feeling before she's being spun gently away, all the people blurring together into a single colorful mass of reds and golds and greens and purples. And then it's her other hand against him, then his arm back around her waist pulling her close as his other hand cocoons hers. She marvels at the fit of their bodies before she twirls back away, her skirts fanning out around her and brushing against his legs.

He's so close she can smell him now, and it's something both bright and masculine, a heady mix that fogs over her jumble of thoughts. Rose keeps her head turned to the outside – it seems like the right thing to do in this kind of hold, and she can only bear to meet the king's gaze for so long. She's only a girl, after all.

But oh, she feels like so much more tonight. King Caspian remembers her, and they're dancing, and Bashar was right because now they've met twice. As Caspian spins her away again, still the perfect example of a gentlemanly grace, Rose knows she'll never be able to forget him, never be able to pretend it was just a chance meeting that meant nothing ever again. This dance, this night isn't nothing, and she'd be a fool if she ever tried to think it was.

A few more complicated patterns and then she's in his arms again, his hand ever warm against her own. Rose doesn't turn her head to the side this time, and she finds herself again captive to his gaze, unable to look away even if she wanted to.

She doesn't.

The music fades into the distant background, echoing only rarely on crescendos. Rose forgets all about midnight, all about her limited time to spend at the ball. There's only him and her. In this dance, they aren't king and girl from Beruna – they're just a man and a woman, close enough together that it could be scandalous to some eyes.

Another spin, then another, and his hands suddenly close around her waist and lift her high into the air. Her hands fly to rest on his shoulders to make the landing easier to balance, and sure enough he steadies her with his body as her feet return to the ground even as his gaze continues to wreak havoc on her sense of gravity.

He's close again, and she can only pray she'll step on the floor and not his feet. The music swells, their feet quicken, and then she's being swept backward, dipped low with ease as if he's done this a thousand times before – well, he probably has.

When she's set back aright, the music is slowing, fading away into the distance and he's bowing with a hand over his heart and she's sinking into a wobbly curtsy. Silence falls from the orchestra as her heartbeat drowns out any other noise in the room.

For a long moment, all is still. But King Caspian breaks it as he extends his hand to her.

"The next?" he asks, barely audible above her ridiculous heart. The room is so quiet that his voice carries even though it was soft, as if only meant for her.

"How could I say no to the king?" she whispers, that giddy thrill rushing back to her in a flood.

He steps close to her again, taking her hand back. "Caspian," he reminds her, with a little half-smirk adorning his lips.

"Caspian," she murmurs.

The music begins again, and now the dance floor is flooded with couples in radiant gowns and flashing doublets. Yet Rose doesn't mind the sudden crowd, though she would normally dislike so many bodies in one place so close together. But tonight she hardly notices, because Caspian is still looking at her as if she's the only woman in the world, and she's looking at him as if he's the only man in the world.

They dance that dance, and the next, and the next, until Rose can't feel her feet anymore and she's having a hard time catching her breath because of something other than the nearness of Caspian.

As if he knows exactly how she's feeling, Caspian intertwines his fingers with hers and tells her to come with him.

Heart racing, Rose grips his hand and leaves at his side.


	10. Chapter 9

**Hello again! Another horribly late chapter, yes. I'll be uploading the rest in a bit of a rush to avoid that going forward. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 9  
(** **Caspian)**

She's here. The thought echoes through all of the dances, the only thing keeping him grounded in the midst of her closeness and the wild yet sweet smell of her.

She is no girl from the forest tonight – she is a princess. Caspian forgets all about the eligible matches brought to the ball and can only think of her, only look at her and marvel that she remembered him. It vaguely occurs to him that he should dance with at least some of them, but every time he looks at the girl – the princess – from the forest, he can't do anything but stay by her side and ask her to dance again.

Even when his feet ache from all the dancing and no rest, he doesn't care, only dances again. Only when he's well and truly exhausted from movement does he stop. But he finds that he still can't leave her, can't bear to let her go for the night. He just knows that he won't get a chance to come back to her before the night's end. So he does something terribly foolish – he asks her to go with him, and he leads her outside into the cool Narnian night.

Once they're outside, he supposes there's no real reason to keep a hold on her hand. They're out of the crowd with nothing to separate them. Yet he doesn't want to let go. Her hands fits just so well in his, and he wants to keep her as close to him as he can. He doesn't even know her name.

"I'm sorry I was late."

Her voice brings him back to reality, the reality where they've found each other again and they just danced for minutes – or was it hours – and they're all alone outside in the garden but for the occasional guard. He's about to tell her not to worry, that he somehow knew she would come, but he looks down and sees that same sparkle in her eyes he saw that day in the forest.

"I was quite worried," he teases back, though it's half true. When he couldn't find her at first he was terrified that she wasn't coming. The less rational part of him had even wondered if she had truly been just a mirage, a dream. "It would've been rather a disappointment if you had turned out to only be a dream."

Her hand tightens in his, and he wishes he could look into her eyes and see that same playfulness every single day.

"Perhaps I still am," she answers, and something shy and uncertain appears behind that spark. It confuses him greatly – what on earth could she be shy about?

"Morning shall tell, then." Caspian hopes he can steal her away for the entirety of the ball, that he can watch the sunrise with her from the royal gardens and see her off when the ball is over. And, if she allows it, he wants desperately to see her again after this night.

They walk hand in hand in comfortable silence, and Caspian gets the sudden wild idea to take her to his favorite place. If she does stay until dawn, it will be breathtaking.

He leads her deeper into the garden, past the shrubs and perfectly trimmed flowers, through the rose walk and up a few stairs to a weeping willow tree. A stone bench sits under its branches, facing full east. A perfect place. But even better is the swing that hangs from the tree, wide enough to fit two people. It is to this spot that Caspian leads her, away from anyone's sight, even the guards'.

"I have not brought anyone to this spot as of yet," Caspian tells her, though he isn't quite sure why. "It's quiet, but you will find few places better for watching a sunrise."

The girl smiles radiantly, running her fingers through the graceful branches all around them. She drops her hand from his and walks the perimeter of the tree, hand brushing those leaves all the while. Caspian can only stand and watch her marvel at the place he's sharing with her.

She lets out a bubbling laugh that stirs a warmth in his chest he's never felt before and comes to stand in front of him with laughter and yet something much softer in her eyes.

"It's perfect," she says, voice as soft as a summer breeze. "I can see why you love it."

Caspian hears what she does not quite say: she loves it too. On a mad impulse, Caspian wants to kiss her, to see if her lips are as soft as her voice, if she tastes of joy and sunlight the way he's imagining. That sparkle is back in her eyes, and it's all he can do to restrain himself, to keep some form of propriety.

He doesn't know what to say, so busy is he with fighting the ever-growing urge to lean down and press his lips to hers. He shouldn't, they've only met twice now, but it takes more effort than he would ever like to admit to listen to his reasonable side.

The girl takes his hand, hers sliding perfectly into his own as if it were made to rest there. She tugs gently on his arm, leading him toward the swing where he has spent many an evening alone musing out various problems or memories. He's thought of her many times here, most often when he has spare time in the mornings.

He makes sure to hold the swing steady for her as she seats herself, and even with her gown spread out there's enough room for him to join her. So he does, and he tries to stop himself from wishing he could sit closer and feel her against his side.

"I thought you may have forgotten me," she admits suddenly, still in that soft voice that carries hints of both teasing and that soft something he's afraid to name, that makes him hope for things he shouldn't be hoping for just yet.

"Forget you?" he repeats, incredulous. "Never." He takes her hand again and wonders just how much he can ask her. He wants to know all about her, every little thing, but he doesn't want to overwhelm her. But perhaps he can just ask a little, see what she's willing to tell him. She hasn't offered anything of yet, and so his throat is a bit dry when he decides on what to ask her.

"You never said why you were chasing the stag," he murmurs.

She turns her head away just the littlest bit, but Caspian notices and immediately wonders if he should even ask anything at all. But he tries to be patient, to let her decide how or even if she wants to answer.

After a little while, she lets out a quiet breath. "I don't really know," she admits, and it surprises him. "I suppose I was looking for something to believe in."

"And you found it?" Caspian isn't sure, but from the reverence in her voice and the softer set of her shoulders, he thinks maybe she did.

The girl turns back to him with a soft smile that turns his insides to powder.

"Yes," she whispers. "I did." A content silence stretches between them, but this time she breaks it. "And you? Did you find peace for the people?"

Caspian smiles wryly. "Something like it. Given time, yes, I believe so."

The girl bumps her shoulder with his. "Perhaps you didn't even need a White Stag."

Caspian's neck is suddenly warm. "All the same, I'm quite glad I went looking for it."

He looks at her long and soft then, trying his best to resist another urge to kiss her. He wants to kick himself for wanting such a thing, but the way she's looking back makes him wonder if she would mind so very much. Vaguely, he realizes he's leaning in closer, eyes searching hers for a sign to stop. None comes. Her steady gaze only welcomes him, draws him in closer. A heartbeat passes, and he's so close now he can feel her breath on his lips.

He hesitates, still unsure and hesitant, afraid of frightening her away. But then she moves just that little bit closer, and he lets his mouth fall onto hers. It's a simple kiss, a kiss of only a moment, soft as butterfly's wings. Yet Caspian's heart thunders in his chest all the same, and he finds his hand that isn't entwined with hers is wrapping around her waist. He has to fight to keep himself from drawing her closer. Instead, he lets that kiss be just the one, because her breath is coming quicker and he can feel her heart thundering too, just by holding her hand.

"Won't you tell me who you are?" he whispers, opening his eyes so he can see hers again.

But this is the wrong thing to say. The girl doesn't pull away, but she saddens, a weight he's unused to seeing on her replacing the gentleness and soft something. Slowly, minutely, she shakes her head, eyes never leaving his as if she's begging him to understand.

"And spoil the mystery?" she teases. But it's not like usual, there's a new and strange thing in it that Caspian can't quite place. After a moment, her smile melts away.

"I can't," she whispers, now rather serious. Something akin to fear dances in her eyes now – fear of rejection, perhaps, that he'll discard her for not giving him the simplest of things.

"Not even your name?" Caspian asks, hoping against all hope he can at least know that little bit about her.

"I can't," she repeats, and Caspian's heart sinks down to his toes. How is he to find her again if he has no idea who she is? He sees that fear in her eyes and all he wants is to take it away.

So Caspian forces himself to nod, and smile softly to reassure her. "As you said, it would spoil the mystery."

He wills away his disappointment and wonders if he can kiss her again, desperate to taste the starlight on her mouth. No, not now, he realizes. Instead of a kiss, he simply rests his forehead against hers and lets his eyes drift closed in contentment. A small part of him is afraid to close his eyes all the way, afraid that she'll disappear into thin air again. So he peeks just a little, lets his heart skip at her nearness. The feelings will confuse him in the morning, but for now he's happy to just sit here with her in silence, sharing the privacy of the willow tree.

And sit there they do, unmoving for precious minutes that feel almost stolen.

"Should you be getting back?" she whispers to him at length, voice tinged in something he finds himself hoping is regret.

"Probably," he admits. "But let's not go just yet." Suitable matches be damned, he only wants her.

Eventually she moves, and he's irrationally terrified she's leaving. But no, she only shifts to rest her head against his shoulder, letting out a sigh as she does. He can't be sure if it's contentment or resignation, but he hopes for the former.

"I thought of you, when the council proposed the ball," he finds himself admitting. Instantly he wonders if it was the wisest thing to say, but when she hums quietly, voice vibrating gently against his shoulder, he ignores his better judgment and tells her anyway. "I wanted to see you again."

He feels her smile, hears it in her voice. "I'm so very glad you did. Though I am a bit surprised."

"Why ever so?"

Her smiles grows, and he wonders what her smile would feel like against his lips. "I'm only a girl from the forest, remember? I could have been nothing more than a wood sprite."

Caspian chuckles and wraps his arm just a little tighter around her waist. "I was sure you were."

"And what would you have done then?" She's raised her head now, left his shoulder in favor of looking at him as he answers.

Caspian shakes his head and meets her eyes once more, the spark stealing away his breath and his words for a moment. "I suppose I would have had to find you some other way."

This pleases her; she smiles again, and Caspian could swear he drowns in her eyes for just a moment. Even if she had been only a dream, he would have chased every stag in the forest just to have it again.

"How am I to find you, after tonight?" he finds himself whispering.

Her smile falters for just a moment. She recovers well, but Caspian can't unsee that fear. It saddens him.

"I think it would be best if you didn't," she says. She's sad now too – he sees the wetness in her eyes. It seems as though she might want to see him again, so why is she turning him away?

"I don't understand," Caspian replies, brow furrowing as he tries to come up with some reason why he shouldn't. He cares nothing for the matches the council would advocate, he's already decided on her. If she'll have him, that is, but he can't ask her that yet.

"Things would be horribly different if I saw you again."

The explanation only furthers Caspian's confusion. Horribly different how? Why? His questions must be dancing through his eyes because she shakes her head again.

"I can't say why. Please don't ask me." There's a desperate edge to her tone, and that same beseeching for him to understand.

Caspian doesn't really know what to say. The only thing he knows is that he's horribly sorry not to see her again, sorry about whatever it is keeping her away. He tells her so, murmuring "I'm sorry" as gently as he can. She smiles, yes, but it's tinged with sadness, not quite reaching her eyes. All he wants right now is to see her smile again, to see that same light in her eyes.

Yet just as he opens his mouth to cheer her up, the distant chiming of the bell tower tolls midnight, and her eyes widen until she looks rather like a frightened doe.

Quicker than he realizes, she's jumped up and away from him, an apology shining in her eyes. "I have to go," she gasps. "I'm sorry, I—"

Words must fail her – she lingers one last moment, looking frightened as a hunted deer, gathers her skirts, and starts to race away, much faster than he would have thought she could go.

Caspian gathers his sense and bolts up, racing after her, suddenly desperate to keep her by his side for just one moment more. "Wait!" he calls after her. "Wait, please!"

Miracle of all miracles, she pauses and turns back to him. "I'm terribly sorry," she calls back. "I can't stay!"

All thoughts of the sunrise forgotten, Caspian still runs toward her, terrified of never seeing her again. "The Summer Dance!" he shouts. "At the Dancing Lawn, meet me there!"

She hesitates, indecisive. He prays for her yes, sees the war within her. Just as he draws near, she answers.

Not with words, but he can't miss the small nod she gives him, though her eyes are wide as if she's shocked at what she's just done. Then she's turning away and racing back toward the castle, away from him and into the crowd. He tries, oh he tries to catch up, but she's lost to the crowd before he can get close enough. Caspian isn't even really sure why he's chasing her, why he's so determined that she not vanish again, but all he knows is he can't let her just leave. Her name, just her name, that's all he needs.

It takes a while for him to escape the crowds of the ballroom. The ball is in full swing still, and he has to wind through dancing couples and drinking lords and servers who scowl when he comes close to knocking the trays they're carrying. He calls excuses this way and that, but still she eludes him and he presses on. By the time he makes it out of the ballroom, she's already racing down the hallway. How she's managing to run so fast in that dress, he will never know.

"Wait, wait!" he calls after her. "Can I not have your name at least?"

She throws a glance over her shoulder for only a half of a moment, with those wide doe eyes, and still races on. At the foot of the steps to the castle sits a magnificent gold and silver carriage, with four grey horses that Caspian swears all look like her mount from the day he met her.

"Come back!" he calls, desperation pushing him even faster after her. But no, oh it's too late, she's leapt into the carriage and the driver is snapping the reins and she's disappearing, she's disappearing and he can't catch her in time.

"The Summer Dance!" he shouts frantically after her carriage. "Please, meet me there!"

Her head pokes out of the carriage window, black hair whipping at its speed, and she stares back at him. Caspian can't be sure, but he thinks he sees her mouth her assent.

Then she's gone, with no trace left to indicate she was ever here but for the distant clattering of hooves on the street beyond his sight. The centaurs who stand guard at the castle doors ask if he wants them to go after her, but Caspian takes a wild chance and tells them not to. He has to trust he'll see her at the Dancing Lawn. He just has to, he'll lose his mind if he doesn't.

But this time, he's somehow sure it wasn't all a dream. He'll see her again. He will.

He has to.


	11. Chapter 10

**Sorry the updates are coming so slow! Turns out work and grad school is a bit more than I anticipated...I'll just update in chunks whenever I can, if anyone's still reading.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10  
(** **Rose)**

"Hurry please, Sir Mouse!" Rose cries, holding onto the carriage seat for dear life as the coach tears out of the city and across the countryside. She struggles to catch her breath after her torrid run from the willow tree, her lips still a-tingle with the memory of his kiss.

Caspian, king of Narnia. He kissed her.

Rose's hand flutters to her lips, covering them with her fingertips. She can't help but laugh, the disbelief bubbling past her lips in spite of the wild carriage ride and her desperation to get home on time. It all feels like a dream, a wild and wonderful dream that couldn't possibly have happened to her.

He remembered her, just as she remembered him. He wants to see her again.

Rose is well aware of the Summer Dance. It's a Narnian affair, to celebrate the first day of summer. There's dancing and merriment in the woods all night long – a much more untamed event than a ball. Rose can get to Dancing Lawn much easier than the castle, and she's thankful for that at least. But how to explain her absence? She'll be lucky to leave the house if her father has anything to say about it, after she supposedly missed the ball.

Oh, but she didn't. Rose beams, straining her mouth almost too far. She went to the ball, and she saw him again, and he asked her to call him Caspian. Her head is still spinning, and she wonders what the Summer Dance will bring. He wanted to see her again.

Rose laughs against her fingers, trembling. Her only regret is that he cannot know her name or who she is. She shouldn't have even agreed to see him again, but oh, she couldn't help it! Even now with the whipping wind from the carriage's speed to clear her head, she wouldn't take it back. She's a fool, but she wouldn't.

The Dancing Lawn should be the last time. It must be, she can't see him again after that. Yet Rose can't entirely convince herself she shouldn't, that she has to stop seeing him. He was just as she remembered. Rose is sure she will be dreaming of willow trees for the rest of her life. How nice it would have been to watch the sunrise from that spot, that cozy and private little perch under the willow tree.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Rose can stay a bit longer next time. The Dancing Lawn is quite a bit closer to Beruna than the castle, after all. What's the harm in a few more hours? Especially when the whole time will be filled with even more dancing, Rose can't come up with any good reasons to leave by midnight next time.

The carriage ride to Beruna is far quicker than the ride to the castle was, or at least it seems to be so. Rose asks Sir Mouse to please stop out of sight of the town, and as chance and timing would have it, the sun breaks over the horizon in the most beautiful dawn Rose has ever seen just as Sir Mouse starts to slow the carriage. Of course he has to stop it rather quickly after that, and Rose has quite the time getting out when the carriage is shrinking by the second, but her dress changes back to its old self as she's escaping and it all works out in the end.

Rose walks the rest of the way to Beruna, with Fe at her side and an irrepressible smile strewn across her face. Fe is breathing hard, no doubt exhausted from the frantic ride, so Rose walks as slowly as her horse wishes. She's in no hurry to get back. She's far too busy thinking of sunrises under willow trees and sweet kisses stolen in the middle of the night on a swing. She has little care for what time she gets back. If anything, she wants the time to go by slower so she can savor her memories of the ball.

With a start, she realizes how comfortable her feet are. Looking down, she inhales sharply and presses a hand to her lips. Her shoes, her dancing shoes are still there.

"Thank you," she whispers to her faerie godmother, hoping against logic that Bashar can somehow hear her. Faeries have magic, so perhaps she can. "Thank you for everything."

The sun is brilliant and warm on her face as she approaches town. Discretion eludes her completely and so she ends up walking through town looking as happy as anything, drawing a few strange looks as she goes. A few townsfolk look as if they're wondering where she's been, considering the ball was last night and they must have seen she wasn't in the carriages. Perhaps they think it's some scandalous rendezvous. Rose only just stops herself from laughing. Let them think what they like, if they're so hungry for fuel for the gossip mill. Rose is filled to the brim with happy memories that should have only ever happened in her dreams, and she has not a care in the world.

When she, at length, reaches her own home, she takes care of Fe first and foremost. The horse did more than Rose ever could have asked for, and she makes sure to thank her too – with an extra apple or two. Once Fe is clean, dry, and well-fed, Rose practically skips to her house, tugging open the back door with a song on her lips. Medias is there, looking worried as anything.

"Welcome home, Rose," he says sternly. "And just where have you been all night?"

Rose tries to bite back her smile, but it fails miserably. Medias's scowl fades when she can't, but the worry is still there. "Off in something of a dream, I suppose," Rose says, humming the tune of her first dance with King Caspian and dancing from foot to foot. "Medias, I had the most wonderful night," she sighs. "You simply wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Medias uncrosses his arms and opens them just for her. Rose all but skips into them, wrapping her arms around her brother as tight as they will go.

"May I ask you to do something for me?" she says, perched on her tiptoes because her heels don't want to stay on the ground.

"Anything, little bird."

"Find some excuse for me in three month's time? I think I'll be away all night."

"Is that so?" Medias says. "And what ever for?"

Rose hesitates, wishes she could tell him. But no, it has to be kept quiet. She trusts Medias, but not even he can know. Yet, why can't he?

"I'm meeting someone," she whispers, barely loud enough for even her own ears to hear. But Medias hears, and when he lets go of her there's a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Who is this someone?"

"I can't say," Rose answers honestly. "But he's wonderful."

Medias waggles his eyebrows. "He?"

Rose laughs and swats at his arm. "Not another word! It's got to be between just you and me, understand? No one else can know."

"Even Gwen?" Medias is shocked at the idea she might not even tell her best friend, but Rose is decided. No one can know, even if Medias may have guessed. Besides, after the Dancing Lawn it won't even matter. She shouldn't see him again after that.

Yet, Rose is somehow sure she will.

"Well well well. Have a nice night, Rosamar?"

Rose stiffens at once. Of course Father would choose this particular morning to be up earlier than usual.

"Yes, Father," she answers, measuredly. "And did you?"

He snaps. "Did I or did I not tell you to go to that ball? Now your chances are ruined, you stupid, stupid girl! You've ruined the best opportunity we've had!" His measured voice cracks into shouts, and now Medias is stepping in front of her with fire in his eyes.

"No," Rose whispers. "It was the best opportunity you've had. But I'm not going to play your games. If you want to insinuate yourself with the king, do it yourself. I'll have no part in it."

"So you at last show a spine," Father snarls, ignoring the shove Medias gives him. "Pity it took you so long!"

Medias pushes Father back again, this time yelling. "That's enough!" he shouts. "Leave her out of your schemes."

"I'll not have you talk to me like that, boy!"

Rose shrieks and begs them to stop, because suddenly it's all flying fists and curses and hate, so much hate. "Stop it, stop!" she yells. But she's flung away when she tries to get between them.

"Get out of here, Rose!" Medias yells.

Dazed from hitting the wall a little too hard, Rose obeys. She takes shelter with Fe in the shelter behind the house. The horse is fast asleep, so Rose just crouches nearby and takes what comfort she can from the smell of horse and hay. She swipes angry tears from her cheeks and hugs her knees.

She doesn't want to feel sorry for herself. She just had the most wonderful night she ever could have dreamed of. But for all her father's ugliness, it's never gotten so…so out of control. If only it could have waited at least another day. Now her thoughts are filled with black eyes and fear for her brother, not willow trees and swings.

Rose slips off her dancing shoes and decides she needs to hide them. She won't take the chance on them being found by Father. He would sneer and take them to punish her for disobeying him. Never mind that she does so often, but this time is so different. In her heart, Rose decides then and there that she's going to move with Mother and Medias. They'll go to Telmara, just like Gwen's been planning to do. Even another town would do, but they will not stay in Beruna. Not with Father so volatile. Rose wouldn't care very much at all if they never came back. Well, she would miss the woods and the meadow around the How where she met Caspian, but she is quite willing to give those things up if she can only be safe with the family she truly cares for.

It's a long time before the house is quiet again. Rose stays with Fe, who somehow sleeps through the whole thing, until all is peaceful again. It feels like a fragile sort of quiet, but Rose gets up and returns anyway. She's afraid for Medias, and she thinks it's safe enough that now she can at least make sure he's all right.

All is still quiet when she enters on silent feet. There's no sign of Father or Medias. Rose advances further in, trying not to tremble. She shouldn't be terrified in her own home.

Yet, some of her is.

"Medias?" she whispers.

"In here, Rose." The reply is sure and strong, and Rose's fear eases somewhat. Her brother sounds all right.

And when she finds him by the front door, he mostly is. A few bruises are blooming on his face and arms, but he stands straight and tall. Whatever happened, Medias is all right.

Rose still approaches slowly. She wants to hear him say it. "Are you all right?" she asks, wishing for all the world her voice wouldn't shake so.

Medias nods. "I'm fine, little bird."

"Where is Father?" The question rises against her will, and Rose blurts it out with regret. She doesn't really care, but she still wants to know. She isn't sure how she's supposed to feel right now.

"He won't be back for a little while." Something hard and unforgiving is in Medias's voice, and Rose doesn't like it one bit. It's cold, distant. He's never like this with her.

"What happened?" She doesn't want to know, not really, but it's the only thing she can think to say to this strange side of her brother.

"I wasn't just going to let him go after you like that." Medias clenches his jaw, and a vein in his forehead throbs. His hands are still in fists, yet to uncurl. His knuckles are stained red.

"Thank you." Rose isn't sure what to do. Should she approach him? Should she let him be? Better to ask, or better to just choose? She ends up asking, because that's what she would want him to do if their situations were reversed. "What do you need?"

Rose hates how fragile her voice comes out.

"I'm fine," Medias says again, but there's less force to it this time. Rose is suddenly not so sure he is.

"You should let someone look at you," Rose says. "Just in case."

Medias clenches his jaw again, but he nods in acceptance. Rose ends up checking him over. She winces at the ugly bruise forming across his right ribs when he isn't looking, but she steels her face against any discomfort when she goes to get ointment. Mother always has some on hand, and thank the Lion for it.

She finds Mother in bed, pretending to be asleep. It's very convincing, but for the quick breathing that gives her away.

"He's gone now, Mother," Rose whispers. "You can get up."

Rose's mother quickly opens her eyes and gets out of bed. "How is Medias?"

"The ointment you keep. May I borrow it?" Rose says instead of answering outright.

Mother holds her gaze for a moment, then two, before getting it. She presses it into Rose's hands with a thousand apologies in her eyes. Rose squeezes her hands and tries to appear much braver than she is.

"We should leave Beruna," she tells her mother. "Soon."

Mother is bobbing her head in agreement before Rose even finishes the fourth word. "Yes, yes. Of course. We should have left a long time ago, I think."

Rose turns to go with the ointment, but a dark curiosity stops her. "Why didn't we?"

Mother sighs, and suddenly looks very old and very sad, a haunted sort of look taking over her features. It's as if Rose can hear every awful think Father's said to her.

"I loved him, once. I thought he could be better."

Rose doubles back and wraps her mother in a tight embrace, the ointment container cool against her hand. "We'll make our own life, and you'll never have to wait on the impossible again."

Rose's mother sags against her, almost as if she's boneless and desperate to rest and have something resembling peace and security.

"I promise."


	12. Chapter 11

**Another chapter, and it's not months later. A miracle of our time. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 11  
(C** **aspian)**

Three months is far too long. It's only the next day and Caspian is desperate to see her again. He's giddy and just the littlest bit foolish, but he has to find her. But why did she run from him last night? Was it something he'd done? Or was it simply a matter of circumstances, something beyond either of them to control?

Caspian reasons that she must be nearby somewhere, as all of the maidens attending had been provided with lodging and transportation. But her carriage had not been like anything he'd ever seen. Yet he still carries the hope that he might be able to find her, see her once more before the Narnian Summer Dance. He must be horribly selfish, but in the end curiosity wins out and he asks all guards in the city to look for her among the travelers, among all of the invitees from last night. He even sends some out to the villages near Telmara, just in case she stayed a little further out from the city,

They search, and Caspian searches with them. He stands for hours at the city gates, bidding all of the attendees a very cordial send-off with wishes for their good health and happiness. But he doesn't see her. Nowhere in the city crowds, and by the end of the day the guards sent to the outlying villages have seen no sign of her either. Caspian is utterly befuddled. Again, he wonders if he only imagined her, but this time he wasn't the only one to see her and so he can't have been dreaming.

The mysterious girl in the blue dress is the talk of the entire city. Caspian has little doubt the entire kingdom will be talking of her by nightfall. It would be stranger if they did not talk, for a girl such as that was bound to turn all heads her way. She truly seemed to be royalty.

Caspian searches the list of the invited nobility and royalty from all over the realm. She had Telmarine coloring, and so could potentially also be from Calormen. But her accent was all wrong, no hint of the Southern Desert dialects. So not Calormen. And the people of Galma were fair of skin and hair, so she was not from there either. That left Archenland, but Caspian knows the entire royal family there very well. So nobility, then?

Caspian wades through registers and censuses of all the Telmarine nobility. He tries to guess, but there are simply too many families he does not know, too many places she could have come from. Finding her, it seems, is impossible. Caspian tries very hard not to be frustrated, though he catches himself wishing she had only given him her name many times. He'll just have to be patient and wait until the Summer Dance. Three months is not so very far away…

A week later, Caspian is inwardly moaning that three months is impossibly far away. He wants to see her again, to at least have something to call her by. He knows her only as the girl from the forest and the princess from the ball – for indeed, she had been nothing short of royalty that night – and both seem grossly inadequate to think of her by. He craves to have a name for her. He wonders if he should begin to call her Willow, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts, but it doesn't quite fit the way he wants it too. She's much more to him than one night sitting on a swing.

The Summer Dance can't get here soon enough.

* * *

( **Rose)**

When her father hears the tale about the girl in the blue dress that's sweeping through the kingdom, he comes home irate and yelling. That's all he does, thankfully, but Rose still stands close to Medias, who puts himself between Father and Rose again. Mother is at the kitchen table, thankfully a room away.

"Foolish girl, you could have had everything!" Father rants, pacing back and forth like a madman. Rose can smell the ale from her place behind Medias on the other side of the room.

Rose stays silent. She's decided it's best not to engage him, better to let him rave and spew until he's finished and then hopefully he'll leave for the night. She just wants him to go away, and if that'll happen faster if she's quiet then quiet she will be.

He keeps going for a little while, calling her all kind of horrible things, and she has to hold Medias back a few times, but eventually he does run out of things to say and leaves, no doubt to get a bit more ale to ease the wound of his perceived loss. Rose lets out the breath she's been holding since he came in in a tizzy and leans against Medias.

"Don't worry, we'll be gone soon. Gwen even said we can travel with her and Arten."

Medias nods, but he doesn't say anything. He's still trying to keep a handle on his own temper. Medias was never one to just stand by silently, but Rose managed to convince him that was the best course of action for now.

"Sometimes courage is knowing when not to do something," she'd said. "It's not always doing something right then."

Medias hadn't understood at first, had only called her too kind for own good, but in the end he came around just to keep some semblance of peace before the move. Father doesn't know, and that gives him a little satisfaction. He's already said he'll learn the blacksmithing trade, no matter that he's a bit old. Medias has paid many a visit to the Beruna's blacksmith – Arten's father, conveniently enough. Rose decided to see if she could be a wool worker. They'll be all right, as soon as they get to the city.

That day can't come soon enough. Just a few days less than a fortnight, and then they'll be leaving with Gwen.

A selfish part of Rose is relieved to be traveling with Gwen. It means she won't lose her closest friend after all, and that at least is something she can be grateful for. That and the Summer Dance.

When Rose isn't trying to calm Medias or prepare for the journey to Telmara, she's dreaming of when she sees the king again. Caspian. She still loves the feel of his name when she says it, loves the ease of speaking it. Her heart still does a strange little stutter whenever she thinks of the king as just Caspian, as just a man who kissed her under a willow tree.

Her lips still tingle sometimes.

When Rose has the time, she tries to remember some of the Narnian dances Isi taught her. It's been years, but her feet remember the steps much better than her mind, and so Rose just trusts her body to know what best to do. So long as she doesn't step on anyone's toes, she'll be happy.

She's going to see him again, very soon. Well, perhaps not exactly soon but it's not exactly far away either. Sometimes Rose thinks that summer is much too far away, but other times she's glad for the distance. Her head's never been this aflutter, and she can't get her hopes up. She's only a village girl.

Yet, for all her efforts, the thought doesn't want to stick at all. Lion, she's already too attached, and after only two meetings! Rose sits out in the woods that afternoon, musing to herself about how silly she's being. The ball was supposed to be the last time she saw him. But when he asked to see her again, something in her heart wouldn't let her say no, wouldn't let a few stolen hours be the final memory she has of him. Even if it was such a perfect memory.

Rose thanks Gwen again and again, so many times that Gwen threatens to gag her if she continues.

"Honestly, Rose, it's nothing," Gwen sighs, playfully exasperated at the thousandth thank you since they've left Beruna. They arrived in Telmara only hours ago, and Rose insisted on helping Gwen get settled. Arten had already gone to the blacksmith's to start work, and getting even their two-room abode ready to live in was a bit of work.

"It's not nothing to me," Rose answers. Being in the city has lifted a rather large burden from her shoulders. She has nothing left to be afraid of, and now she can look forward to the Summer Dance with all the giddiness in the world. It needn't be a secret any longer.

So that night, when the small house is set up and everything is in its place, Rose tells Gwen the truth about the ball. At first, Gwen doesn't believe her, but when Rose shows her the dancing shoes, she's won over.

"My dearest friend, the princess in the blue dress!" Gwen sighs. "Who could have imagined?"

"I wish I could have seen you there, Gwen," Rose says earnestly. "Though you wouldn't have known it was me."

Gwen shakes her head. She still struggles with the whole faerie godmother bit of the tale. "A magic spell keeping anyone from recognizing you? I still can't quite understand it."

Rose smiles, lost in staring off into the distance. "I still barely believe it myself. And now the Summer Dance is a mere two months away!"

And of course Rose had forgotten to mention that bit, and Gwen simply must know all about it. But in the telling Rose remembers something so very important, something she hadn't thought of until just now. It's only a what-if, but fear prods away her bliss with the harshness of a fire poker.

"Oh no," she whispers, only just having finished telling Gwen about her dash from the castle. "Oh Gwen, what if I'm wrong?"

"Wrong? For goodness sake, about what?" Gwen frowns, displeased with the sudden drift into somberness from such a blissful recounting.

"Father," Rose says into her palms, wanting very much to bury her face in them. "I always assumed he wouldn't follow us, or if he did he couldn't find us, but what if he does? And if I'm with the king…"

"Rose, is that all?" Gwen leans in and lays a gentle hand on Rose's shoulder, and Rose turns wide eyes to her friend. How can she treat this like nothing?

"Nothing can come of us, don't you see? With a father like mine, even if he loved me it'd be a disgrace. Kings can't have in-laws like that, they simple can't!"

"If the king is worth his salt, he'll give no care for your father," Gwen snaps, a fiery defiance dancing in her tone. "And you shouldn't either."

"He could never marry me," Rose murmurs. "Why let it continue if it must end anyway?"

"And what if it needn't?" Gwen argues right back. "Give him a chance, Rose. He's been nothing but kind, hasn't he? When has he ever cared about your station or family? Did he even ask?"

Rose wags her head as practicality and wild hope fight for her heart. "I'm no princess. I don't even have a respectable family. That matters."

"Rose, listen to me and stop this whole nonsense right now." Gwen swats away Rose's hands from her face and fixes her in place with narrow eyes and a very stern stare. "I won't hear any more of this talk. You're clearly something to him if he wanted to meet you again after the forest, and more than that you're something all on your own. Your family doesn't matter, your lack of title doesn't matter. Just you, Rose. For Lion's sake, I thought you knew that by now."

That unbridled hope is winning as Rose meets Gwen's fierce green eyes. A smile blooms over Rose's chees, her heart beating out a song of relief in her chest. "Thank you, Gwen."

Gwen snaps her head once, closing the topic with brusque finality. "Good. Now, let's practice those Narnian dances your aunt taught you. I don't think King Caspian likes his toes being trod on."

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

A fortnight after the ball, Caspian has given up hope on finding the mystery girl from the forest. No one knows who she is or where she's from, not even the noble families he writes to asking if they know her. She's as much a mystery after the ball as she was after the forest, but now Caspian is sure she must be from some noble family or other. Everything about her seemed royal. In the forest, she had been playful and spirited. At the ball, she was even more than that. In his eyes she had no equal, not even the foreign princesses who attended.

Then one day, he swears by the Mane that he sees her. He's passing through the city on Destrier, on his way to Cair Paravel to check on the progress with its reconstruction when he suddenly catches sight of long black hair and eyes he remembers so very well. It's her. He doesn't know how he's so sure, but he knows without a doubt it's her.

Without a second thought, Caspian whirls Destrier around, steering through the city crowds toward her. But in that split second that he looked down to adjust the reins, she's gone.

Caspian rides through the city streets for the better part of three hours, trying to find her. He's so sure it was her, he knows it was! Yet he can't find a single trace of her. There are a multitude of young women with black hair and brown eyes, but none of them are she. He can tell simply from how they carry themselves that none of them are the princess from the forest.

Caspian tries to clear his head, to remember where exactly it was that he first saw her. But the streets all look so similar, and he only ends up riding in circles. At last, he has to swallow his disappointment and leave the city. He's running very late now, but he puzzles over the strange occurrence the whole of the trip to Cair Paravel. He even rides by Aslan's How, in case she might be there. But he doesn't see any sign of her, and he arrives at Cair Paravel wondering if she's more ghost than girl.


	13. Chapter 12

**Just 3 more chapters til the end! Hang in there; all the saccharine happiness is rapidly closing in.**

* * *

 **Chapter 12  
(R** **ose)**

At long last, the first day of summer arrives. Rose can barely contain her excitement; she hums all day at work while she cards wool, and she can hardly focus. Sima gets impatient when it's nearing sunset and Rose's work is still lagging, so Rose does her best. But in the end, Sima gets too exasperated and Rose has to stay a bit later than usual. Sima is a bit cross, and understandably so, and scolds Rose to come back in the morning better prepared for the day's work. Rose knows she should feel ashamed, but she's so very excited that it's hard to.

By sundown, Rose is dressed in her finest dress, which admittedly isn't very fine but it'll have to do, and leading Fe away, spouting some excuse about going adventuring with Gwen to Mother. Medias supports her, but he has that little smirk that tells her he'll want to know all about it when she returns.

"Don't stay out too late, little bird," he whispers to her outside. "Do try to be back by dawn."

Rose grins and doesn't make any promises. She'll do her best, she tells him, but that's all she'll say. And with a quick farewell from Gwen, Rose is off, riding toward the Dancing Lawn a bit faster than she should.

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

Caspian leaves for the Dancing Lawn just after noon. He doesn't really have to leave until dusk, but he's far too excited to wait that long. And besides, he finishes the day's duties early. He wants to welcome her, to see her arrive if he can.

Destrier seems to understand Caspian's urgency, and surges into a gallop with the barest touch of Caspian's heels against his side. The whole way, Caspian wonders if he might get her name tonight. He's growing a bit tired of calling her the mystery girl, and Willow still doesn't seem to fit.

Sure enough, Caspian arrives hours early. The Old Narnians welcome him heartily, and he helps prepare food and drink with a will and good cheer. They welcome the help, and he welcomes the opportunity to stay busy so the time will go by a little quicker.

When the last streaks of sunset are fading away, the dance begins. It's a much wilder sort of affair than the ball. For one thing, almost all of the participants are Fauns and Dryads – humans are few and far between. And the music, oh the music! Flutes and pipes, not the string instruments of Telmarine celebrations. It's the sort of music that one's feet can't stay still to, that invites even the most clumsy of bumblers to get up and join hands with the group and dance the night away. Caspian can't stay still any more than the rest, and he's up and dancing before he knows quite what is happening. He hopes the girl will be here soon, and longs for her to dance with him again. He's quite curious to see how she performs the more Narnian sorts of dances.

The time mercifully flies as Caspian dances, waiting for her. It's just when he's started to totally lose himself in the merriment that he sees her. She's clad simply, as is appropriate for these sorts of dances. She meets his gaze across the circle and joins in with ease, and two Fauns happily make room for her.

Caspian's heart swells. She came.

They don't have the chance to talk all night. The music does not stop, and so the dancing doesn't either. Sometimes the mystery girl is across from him, sometimes beside him with her hand joined to his, and sometimes he loses sight of her entirely. But he knows she's there and that's enough.

When it must be nearing midnight, Caspian's palms begin to sweat and he tries to keep her in sight more. What if she disappears again, flees at midnight and he never has the chance to even ask for her name. He couldn't stand it if he left tonight without knowing what to call her. He won't ask for anything else, just a name. He's not even overly concerned with a real name, but a name, any name to call her.

He thinks only of her name whenever she meets his eyes.

When midnight must be striking, Caspian panics. He loses sight of her, and he's sure that's it, this is the end and he never spoke to her, never got her name and now he never will and he has no way of finding her ever again. But then a familiar hand slips into his and he relaxes, relief loosening his stiff limbs.

During a pause in the music, he asks how long she intends to stay. "Must you leave at midnight, as before?" he asks her, hope and resignation warring in his chest.

Her lips tilt upward in a smile, and she shakes her head. Caspian beams, and holds onto her hand a little tighter than before. He doesn't ever want to let go.

But of course, the dance dictates that he must, and so let go he does, though with a good deal of regret. He misses the warm fit of her hand in his the moment it's gone.

The dancing lasts until dawn. Neither of them ever stopped for food or drink, too caught up the music and when they might dance next to each other again to stop. But now, after dancing the entire night away, Caspian finds he's exhausted and in great need of a bit of wine, fruit, and cheese. The girl finds him – or is it that he finds her – and they walk to the refreshments arm in arm, sweaty and tired and utterly satisfied.

With wine and a bit of food in hand, they retreat from the crowd and Caspian tries to gather his courage to ask what he's been wanting to ask for three months now.

He waits, as patiently as he can, until she's finished her food at least, and he's finished his. When they're both leaning back against a steep grassy slope sipping their wine, he can't hold himself back anymore.

"Won't you at least tell me your name?" he asks her, his voice soft with hope.

The girl shifts in her seat, and he senses that he's made her uncomfortable. He curses his runaway mouth. But when she looks up, it's with a half smile that makes goose-bumps pop up on his arms and his blood roar in his ears.

"Why don't you pick one for me?" she says.

Right now, Caspian is very close to cursing her teasing. But it makes him smile, this familiar side of her, and he decides to play along. "I've tried," he admits, taking her hand in his and relishing in it. "But nothing I came up with seemed quite right."

The girl takes a healthy swallow of her wine. "Why don't you tell me, and we can cobble something together between the two of us."

Caspian chuckles at her stubbornness. He doesn't mind playing this game with her, though he's a bit embarrassed to admit the names he's tried. He clears his throat and tries to think of the least ridiculous one. "Willow," he says, his tongue wanting very much to stick to the roof of his mouth. "Princess, of course. You're called Princess the most I think."

She dips her head, and he sees pink blooming on her cheeks. "What else?" she presses, taking another sip of wine.

"Mystery girl. Girl from the forest. Ghost." Caspian laughs and swirls the wine in his glass. "I think you see the difficulty."

"They're all quite too long for me," she answers, eyes dancing with merriment and something else he can't quite name. "Don't you think?"

"Indeed," Caspian says. "Much too long."

How he longs to taste the wine on her lips.

"Then I suppose we shall have to come up with something ourselves." Another sip of wine, and her fingers intertwine with his. Caspian wishes very much she would never let go.

"As the issue before us is of your name and not mine, perhaps you have a suggestion?"

"I might have one or two." Her lips curl upward into a mischievous smile and it's all Caspian can do to keep from leaning in to kiss her. "I guess you want to hear them."

"Please."

She shivers when he says that – he feels the tremors in her hand. Her breathing quickens, and Caspian is hoping very much it's the same thing that's making his neck warm.

"Wood sprite. Forest girl."

Caspian shakes his head at her first suggestion and outright wrinkles his nose at her second. She only laughs, agreeing with his unspoken distaste.

"Just a girl," she whispers.

Caspian shakes his head. She's never been just a girl, and he tells her so. It makes her cheeks flush again. He can't resist pulling her closer, so her head rests on his shoulder.

"Rose?" she asks, and something about the way she says it – haltingly, as if she hadn't quite decided what to say when she opened her mouth – gives him pause. Something is different about this one. A fierce, wild hope blooms in his chest that this, at last, is her name. Lion, it just might be.

So he sets down his wine and tips her chin up with two fingers. "Perfect," he says, and finally indulges his need to feel her lips against his once more. She sighs into his mouth, and he greedily presses closer, suddenly very unconcerned with the wine nearby that could spill quite easily. There's only this girl and the name that he's almost sure is hers and the heady taste of wine and the sweet warmth of her mouth.

She pulls away first, breathing very quickly now and her hands resting against his chest. He wonders idly if she can feel how his heart is racing. He hopes she can. He wants her to know exactly how he feels about her.

But when she opens her eyes, he sees sadness there again, sadness and fear. What is there to be afraid of?

"What's wrong?" he asks her, praying for an honest answer. He's starting to get the sinking feeling that there's something important she's not telling him.

She blinks, and when her eyes return to him they're watery with what could be a thousand untold secrets.

"I'm no princess, Caspian," she whispers, pain written in the new lines on her forehead.

Caspian tips his head. Is that all this is? "That doesn't matter," he tells her, cupping her cheek with his palm and willing her to believe him. "It doesn't matter at all," he repeats.

But she presses on, and the tears in her eyes don't go away. "I'm only a girl. I'm not royalty, I'm not nobility. I'm only a girl from Beruna. Nothing more."

Caspian is stunned, and for long moments he has no idea what to say. She's not only a girl, how could she think that? "Much more," he says, leaning in closer so she can better see the honesty in his face. "I do not care where you come from, only if you feel as I do. Nothing else matters."

She meets his gaze at last, and he begins to think he might be getting through to her.

"Nothing else, Rose." That first intonation of her name sends shivers down his spine, and all he wants to kiss away this notion of hers that she's just a girl. As he told her, she is anything but.

And kiss her he does, willing her to understand. She's never been a nobody, most especially not to him. When next she looks at him, he sees it. No more fear, no more sadness, only that soft something he was afraid to name before. Now he can name it, for the same thing is radiating throughout his entire body. Love. It's love. Some how some way after only meeting three times she cares as deeply as he does.

"Come to the castle with me," he whispers. "And if you are willing, I will marry you by noon today."

Rose laughs, her eyes twinkling with the fierce hope he's felt all evening. "You barely know me, and I barely know you."

"There will be time enough for that later," Caspian says, smiling at her with his heart full to bursting. "We would have the rest of our lives."

Rose bites her lip, but her eyes dance. "We can't get married now," she laughs, with something serious behind her voice. Caspian's heart plummets, but then she speaks again. "At least, not yet."

His hope soars again, and he realizes he's willing to do anything to get her to say yes.

"Meet my family first."

Caspian shakes his head at her and laughs, marveling at her. Rose, the girl from the forest, the princess in the blue dress, the girl he kissed under a willow tree.

Soon, his wife.


	14. Chapter 13

**And we approach the end still. Two chapters left!**

* * *

 **Chapter 13  
(** **Rose)**

She can't help but believe him. He wants to marry her, and for some reason she wants to marry him too. But not yet, not when there's still so much they don't know about each other. She wants him to be absolutely sure before she agrees. She couldn't stand it if he left after a matter of months because they were foolish and didn't take the time to think things through. So she tells him to meet her family first, and realizes that she'll have to mention her father at some point. That's the part she dreads the most. Father doesn't have the best reputation in Beruna, and as a consequence neither does the family. And now that Mother's left him it's a further stain. Caspian needs to know all these things.

She does tell him that she lives in Telmara now, and how to find her, but she doesn't tell him why. She doesn't want that to be part of the memory of tonight. She only wants to remember dancing as wild as the Narnians, drinking wine while Caspian tried to come up with a name for her, kissing him as he told her he didn't care if she came from nothing. That's what she wants to remember from tonight. She's not going to let her father taint this night, not when he's tainted much already.

Caspian insists on riding back with her, and of course it'd be silly to refuse when they live so close to each other now. Within minutes of each other – and to think they used to be separated by half a country.

Medias is waiting for her when they arrive. He has the biggest grin she's seen on his face when he realizes who's with her, and it promises that he'll want to know everything just as he said.

Nerves flutter in Rose's stomach as she dismounts. She has to take a deep breath to steady herself, and then Caspian is walking hand in hand with her to meet her brother. The situation is so surreal she discreetly pinches her hand as they approach. These sorts of things just don't happen, yet here they are. It's happening, and still she can't quite believe it.

"Caspian, this is my brother Medias," Rose says once they're close enough that she can see Medias's smirk twitching every now and then. "Medias, this is Caspian."

"The king from the forest," says her brother, clasping hands with Caspian as if it's only another acquaintance he's meeting. "A pleasure."

"Likewise." Caspian glances at her sideways. Rose dips my head a bit – yes, she didn't mention she has a brother but he knows now.

"Is Mother awake?" Rose is not expecting her to be, but it keeps up appearances. She's not ready for Caspian to know everything at once.

Medias shakes his head. "She's indisposed."

Ah. Mother has good days and bad days, and she has ever since they left Beruna. This must be one of her bad ones. Luckily Caspian doesn't ask, and Rose almost sighs in relief. Those difficult things can be left for another time. Soon, but not now.

Medias excuses himself to go to work, and Rose flashes him a grateful smile. He's giving Caspian and her some privacy for their goodbyes. She senses Caspian is loath to leave, but there are still things she has to take care of here and she isn't ready for him to see all the less flattering parts of her at once. Just not today.

"When can I see you again?" Caspian asks, wrapping his arms around her waist as soon as Medias disappears from sight.

"Soon," she answers with a little smile. Lion, she does enjoy teasing him. At the quirk of his eyebrow, Rose relents and tells him to meet her just outside the city gates in a week's time. That should give her plenty of time to wrap up any loose ends and work out exactly how to fill him in on the rest of her life – at least, the things he needs to know.

Their goodbye is long and lingering, and Rose feels heat pool in her cheeks when he kisses her goodbye. The streets are starting to fill with people, and she's painfully aware that some of them are staring. But it's just something she'll have to get used to. He's the king; it comes with the territory.

Then he's leaving on Destrier and promising to be at the gates. When he's gone from sight, it all goes back to feeling like a dream. Rose can't quite wrap her head around the whirlwind of romance. She goes inside in a happy, lazy sort of daze and curls up in front of the fireplace, even though the cool of dawn is being steadily pushed away by the summer sun's heat. Still, she still can't quite believe this.

She was late to the Summer Dance, of course. Thank goodness it was easy to find, because as much as she loves the forests of Narnia she had no wish to be lost in one in the middle of the night. And then she found him, and quite literally danced the night away. She was afraid at first, that things would be different after she left so abruptly at the ball. But no, he was only very glad to see her and quite determined to keep her by his side as long as he could. Rose brushes her fingers against her lips as she remembers how he kissed her, much more passionately than in the swing. They were the sorts of kisses that made her head spin. She wants to blame the kisses for how easily she gave away her name, but she also knows she made the choice entirely on her own. But perhaps the kisses helped, just a little.

He wanted to marry her. She's convinced the wildness of the dance addled his common sense for a bit, that he'll not mention it again for a little while yet. After all, they barely know each other.

Plenty of time later, he'd said. Rose remembers with a smile tugging at her lips, even though she thinks he's being absurd and there's no way they can, or especially should, up and get married this very day. She wants to know without a doubt he's not going to leave without any warning. It's been years since Isi, but Rose would rather be cautious. This is the rest of her life she's dealing with, after all, and the repercussions of leaving a king would be so much worse than leaving a mere village man as her mother has done.

No, for now she only wants to see him again, and again and again. She wants to get to know him slowly, with no more secrets between them. She wants to take her time, to savor this part. She wants to be sure – as sure as he seems to be.

And then there's the small matter of being the king. If she marries him, that will make her queen. A common girl, a girl who's never ruled anything a day in her life will suddenly be thrust into a role she has no idea how to play.

Rose is suddenly frightened. As the girl from the forest, the only person she was responsible for her was herself. As queen, she would have the weight of a country to bear. Is she is cut from the right cloth to do that? Caspian was raised from birth to do it, and he fought a war to keep his right to it. She knows nothing about matters of state. Rose knows she's not nothing, but she's no queen.

In a rush, she remembers work and flies to Sima's shop on swift but sore feet. She gets a solid scolding for being late and another scolding for her choice of dress – it _did_ get rather dirty from dancing all night – but in the end Sima just shakes her head and tells her to hurry and get to work.

"Daylight is wasting," Sima says, and Rose gets to work with a vengeance, relieved Sima didn't ask why, precisely, she was late.

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

Upon his arrival at the castle, Caspian wants to shout to anyone and everyone that he's found the mystery girl and she isn't a ghost and he's going to marry her someday. He holds his tongue by the strongest force of will, and only because Rose didn't say if she wanted it to be public knowledge yet. He doesn't want to do anything before she's ready. He saw the caution in her, and the last thing he wants to do is scare her off. She already has that habit of leaving abruptly.

Not that he minds so very much now – it makes for the most wonderful story – but he's looking forward to not struggling to find her for months at a time.

Ironhoof, as it turns out, is the first to know.

Caspian lets it slip while they're sparring, and as soon as he gets to the proposing part Ironhoof is berating him.

"Proposing after seeing her three times? What in the name of the Lion has gotten into you?"

Caspian locks blades with his friend and tries to think of something that doesn't sound foolish. "I suppose I was a trifle carried away," he concedes, arms straining to hold the swords in place. "But I couldn't help it, it's just something about her. She's not just any girl."

Ironhoof grunts and breaks the stalemate, and Caspian has to jump back from a clean swipe at his torso. "Yes, we've established that. But think what you're doing. She knows little of you, and you little of her."

This is true, and Caspian is growing aware that telling her they could be married by noon was a bit rash. But he doesn't quite regret it either. "Yet," he corrects the centaur as he parries with ease. "We will, I'm not so foolish as to run off with her now."

"I should hope not."

Caspian bites his tongue on the little detail that at least he's met her family – well, her brother at least – and surely that counts for something? Because of course it does but Ironhoof _is_ right. They need time to settle, to simply be two people in love rather than the girl from the forest and the smitten king of Narnia.

Ironhoof only relents when Caspian gives his solemn oath that he won't get married within the next month at least, though that doesn't seem quite long enough for the centaur.

A month is nothing. Caspian has waited much longer to simply have the chance to see her again. A month. So be it.

* * *

 **(Rose)**

Rose is still on something of a high from the dance in the woods when she arrives home. She hums one of the wilder tunes, the one that dipped into the highest notes one minute and the lowest the very next, as she goes inside. Medias isn't back yet, so she goes to prepare dinner. Mother won't have done so if it's one of her bad days.

Yet when Rose goes into the kitchen, there is her mother, stirring a pot with vigor.

"Mother," Rose says carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine, Rose," Mother answers. Her voice is convincing enough, but her eyes are too bright when she turns to say hello. "Just fine," she repeats.

Something's wrong. Mother shouldn't be this chipper after being indisposed this morning.

"Is everything all right?" Rose asks carefully.

"As I said, just fine." Now her voice is much too high, and it's blatant she's trying very, very hard to make it seem like everything is fine when it's truly the opposite.

"Mother," says Rose. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong, Rosamar. All is as it should be."

Rose's blood runs cold. She doesn't want to turn around and face him, not now when everything just started to work out. Will he ever stop poisoning things that are supposed to be good?

"Father," she says, voice carefully in monotone. "We weren't expecting you."

He chuckles. "I couldn't have my family missing me. Especially when I found out about your little meeting with the king." His hand clamps on her shoulder. Rose flinches, but she wills herself to stay still. She doesn't want to provoke anything, not now.

"How foolish of me," he whispers in her ear. "I didn't need to encourage you at all. You've done it all on your own."

Rose swallows down her fear. How he knows this she doesn't know, but if she can lie to him and make him believe her, maybe she can stall long enough to tell Caspian. It seems as though she's run out of time to keep her family to herself.

"I wish you were right," Rose says, keeping her voice steady and strong. "But it didn't work out. He still wants the princess from the ball."

Father tightens his grip on her, and Rose tries not to wince. It might bruise, but she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"How convenient that the princess you speak of is you."

Rose's palms feel clammy, but she stays still. He can't know that for certain, there's no way he could. Bashar's spell made sure of that.

"You think no one noticed you returning after dawn? Your new shoes?"

"How could I have gone to the ball?" Rose says. "The trip takes a full day. I couldn't have been back by morning if I'd gone."

Father laughs bitterly, and Rose hates how it echoes in her ear.

"And if the princess was not you, pray tell who it was?"

"I don't know. How could I?"

"You were never a very good liar. You're too much like your mother." Father's hand migrates from Rose's shoulder to the side of her neck. Rose tries not to stiffen, she really does, but she can't help it this time.

"I didn't travel all this way for nothing, Rosamar. I know you're with the king now, and I am your father. All I ask is one small thing from you, and you can live here with your mother and that spiteful brother of yours as long as you like."

"Let me guess," Rose bites out. "You want to be a count?"

"Close, but no. I should prefer the title of duke, if you would be ever so kind. After all, the king will do almost anything for you. What's a little duke-dom?"

Rose grits her teeth, caught between anger and fear. It's a temping offer for a moment. Just give him what he wants in exchange for peace from him for the rest of their lives. But Rose knows better. It won't stop with the title of duke. There will be something else after that, and another thing after that. It'll never stop, and he will always use the same leverage to get what he wants. Giving in once won't stop him from interfering in her life, Mother's life, Medias's life. It will only set a precedent, one he will follow as long as he pleases. But if she refuses, he may snap now.

All right. She'll play along as the dutiful daughter.

"Fine," Rose says, giving a defeated little sigh at the end. "A duke you shall be."

Father loosens his grip from the side of her neck and claps her shoulder instead. "Smart girl," he says. Then his footsteps retreat, away and away until they disappear out of the door.

Rose sighs and turns to Mother. "Are you all right?"

Mother shivers, just a little, but she nods. "I'm sorry, Rose. I wanted to tell you. He only just appeared, minutes before you arrived."

Rose tells her it's fine, that she understands and that Mother doesn't have to apologize. But then of course Medias shows up, and asks what Mother doesn't have to apologize for, and Rose has to tell him the truth because he's her brother and he deserves to know.

And of course once Medias hears what's just happened he wants to go after their father and settle this out in the streets. Rose only just manages to convince him not to.

"He'll only wait for the next time you aren't here, Medias," she says, gripping his arm to keep him from running out the front door, which he's still glancing at every few seconds. "It's not worth it. We're new here, remember?"

"He's not getting away with this, little bird," Medias practically growls. "You can't expect me to do nothing."

"For now," Rose says. "Only for now."

Then she takes him aside and pretends she's trying to talk sense into him, but really she's telling him that she'll work something out and not to do anything too rash.

"Have you told Caspian about him?" Medias asks.

"No," Rose admits. "I don't know how to. Besides, we don't need him to step in. Father will do something awful on his own, we only need to wait before someone catches him."

"He's going to have to find out sooner or later," Medias tells her, almost stern in how he regards her. "Best to get it over with now, little bird."

He's right, of course, but Rose doesn't want to admit it. She doesn't want to involve him, not when things are just now getting started. She doesn't want to bother him with this, not when she knows they need only wait. In the city, he can't hide behind old friends and connections. No one will want a disruptive neighbor and Rose doesn't think they'll hesitate to get rid of one if he crops up.

So instead of agreeing, Rose just says she'll think about it.

She does, but it doesn't really change her mind.


	15. Chapter 14

**Second to last chapter! To be honest, I'm relieved to be finishing another story...**

* * *

 **Chapter 14  
(** **Rose)**

She meets Caspian as planned in a week, just outside the gates of Telmara. He rushes up as soon as he sees her, smiling as if she's everything. She wants to be looked at that way for every day of the rest of her life.

"Rose," he greets her, taking her hand in his and kissing it softly. "A week was too long."

Rose laughs and links her arm with his. "It's much shorter than all the other times."

"They were much too long, but I didn't know anything about you then."

Rose relaxes even more at how he teases her. It's strange, being on the receiving end, but she likes it. She needs the light-heartedness.

When Caspian asks if she has anything in particular planned, she tells him she wants to go to the woods and hear his favorite story. He looks at her with boyish joy and all but bounds off with her into the forest. He even says he wants to hear some of her favorites as well, and something tightens in her heart for a moment. All of her favorite stories were Isi's stories, and it looks as though he'll be learning that bit about her today.

It's a day well spent. It's private, intimate, but innocent too. Caspian tells her the stories his old nurse and Professor used to tell him, about the Golden Age of Narnia – especially the Kings and Queens. In turn, Rose tells him about the tale of Narnia's creation, and the adventures of Cor and Shasta. Cor and Shasta remains her favorite, because she always understood that idea of running off to a better place. But she'd never done it until now.

They lose track of time together, telling stories and laughing about the memory of when they met. Rose tries to apologize for being short with him again, but Caspian will have none of it.

"It was my favorite thing about you," he says, and kisses her cheek as if to prove his point.

Rose doesn't quite understand, but she doesn't really need to. With Caspian, it's almost as if she doesn't have to overthink. He feels safe, like someone to trust with everything. She will, of course she will, but not today. She tells him about Isi, and that's enough for one day. She's determined not to overwhelm him.

She is, admittedly, relieved when he doesn't bring up the subject of marriage again. Once or twice it looks as though he wants to, but he doesn't. Rose is unspeakably grateful, especially in light of Father's daily visits. He's determined to have his title within a fortnight – well, a week now – and has made sure to remind Rose of that every morning at precisely half an hour after dawn. It's wearing on her, but today Rose thinks of little else but Caspian and it's a relief. Yet she also remains keenly aware that she'll have to tell him sooner or later, or he'll find out some other way and then it could all go horribly wrong if she can't explain things properly.

She doesn't want to ruin the day. It's only their fourth time together, and she really would so much rather wait. So she keeps that piece of her past tucked safely away as a trouble for another day.

* * *

 **(Caspian)**

Caspian is relieved beyond words to see Rose again. It's almost strange, now having a name to call her by. He's so used to thinking of her as _the girl_ or _the princess_. But when he uses her name, it feels simple and sweet, as if she's just a woman and he's just a man, and it's just love between them. It feels perfect, almost too perfect.

Yet, he knows something is wrong today. Rose smiles and teases him less, and when she does it's not as spirited as it has been in the past. Caspian is aware it's most likely nothing, but he wants to ask anyway. If something is indeed bothering her, he wants to know if there's something he can do.

He waits until all their stories and tales are done and there's a lull in the conversation. He hesitates for only a moment.

"Rose," he begins. "Is something the matter?"

She stiffens. Only the slightest bit, barely noticeable, but he notices. He waits to see what she'll say, and he can't help his slight disappointment when she denies it.

"I'm fine, Caspian. All this is just…strange, getting used to." Now she dips her head, and her voice gains a shy quality. "I keep remembering who you are, and who I am, and how different those two things are. That's all."

Caspian doesn't think that's all, but he hears the honesty in her words regardless.

"It's strange for me too," he admits. "Strange to know about you. You were a mystery for so long that I grew used to it. I didn't think I would ever figure you out." He smiles a lopsided sort of smile, unsure of his words but determined to help her feel more at ease if he can.

"And have you?" There, the teasing is back. That same little thing is still off, but Caspian doesn't want to push her overmuch.

"No," he says. "I don't think I ever will." He doesn't, and he loves that about her. Part of him wonders if the mystery isn't a bit of why he fell so quickly.

"Then I suppose we are a good match. Kings are very difficult to figure out too."

Caspian can't help but grin and lean in for a long, slow kiss. How she jokes with him is perhaps his favorite part of her.

Unfortunately, it's almost sundown and they both need to return home. Caspian walks arm in arm with Rose out of the forest, holding her as tightly to him as he dares. He still fears in some small way that she'll disappear somehow. Time will help that, and sometimes the way she looks at him makes him wonder if she doesn't fear the same thing about him.

They walk as slowly as they dare back into the city, and Caspian finds himself regretting that their time together is over already. He doesn't think all the time in the world with her will be enough.

Something strange happens when they reach her home. Caspian notices nothing out of the ordinary, but she must, for she stiffens quite visibly and hesitates before pushing open the door. She doesn't let go of his hand either, and he knows something must be wrong. Is it the same as before?

"Father, I wasn't expecting you," she calls. Her voice is cold, and both small and strong. Caspian wonders if she hasn't ever mentioned her father because there's something she doesn't want to say just yet.

"Rosamar! You're almost late for dinner. And Your Majesty, what a surprise!" The man that comes striding from the back of their small home does not look like the sort of man Caspian likes at all. His eyes dart between Rose and him, almost as if he's assessing them. Caspian doesn't like it one bit, and he doesn't like how Rose seems to be feeling either. She's very stiff, as if bracing for something.

"Where's Mother?" Rose's hand tightens in his, and Caspian gets the strangest sensation that she's afraid of not holding on tightly enough. It's all due to this man in front of her, practically leering at the two of them and their tightly held hands.

"Oh she had to run to the market. Darling woman forgot the leeks for the stew."

Even not knowing this man Rose has called her father, Caspian can see he's lying. He deals with his fair share of liars on a daily basis – it's not hard for him to tell when he's meeting one.

The man now turns his full attention to Caspian, and the king does his best to keep at least a veneer of politeness.

"Your Majesty," the man practically grovels. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to have you in my humble home."

Rose dislikes this man, distrusts him deeply and yet calls him father. Caspian gives a curt but polite greeting and immediately turns to Rose.

"Perhaps I may return another time, when your mother is home that I might meet her?" he says, sliding his eyes toward the door and hoping she understands what he means.

"We may yet catch her at the market," Rose answers with a pointed glance at her father, one he's meant to see. "Shall we?"

Caspian leaves the house with her gladly and takes her to the castle. She doesn't resist at all – if anything she seems relieved to be getting away. He winds through the halls quickly until he reaches his study, a spartan but tasteful room near the library where they are sure to have some privacy. The moment the door closes behind them Caspian turns to her.

"Who was that man?" he asks rather bluntly. There's little point in delaying it.

Rose's shoulders sag with something akin to defeat. "He's my father," she answers, wrapping her arms around her torso and suddenly looking very small. "I don't like him very much."

Caspian softens and steps closer to her, but when he wraps an arm around her shoulders she doesn't lean into the embrace like usual. He lets his arm fall, confused and sorry at the sudden change in her.

"Why is he at your home?" Caspian asks next, for of course he knows the man does not belong there. Rose's body language told him that.

"I'm afraid to tell you everything," Rose suddenly blurts. "I'm afraid it'll change things terribly between us."

Caspian shakes his head. "You are not your father," he murmurs, again putting his arm around her. This time, she leans into him just the slightest bit. "It will change nothing, this I promise you."

A smile flickers across her face. "Truly promise?"

"Truly." Caspian takes one of her hands, and she lets him, and lays it over his heart. He wants her to feel the steady beat there, the token of his sincerity. One man will not change how he feels, no matter who he is.

Rose takes a breath that shakes, and when she exhales he somehow knows she's going to tell him everything.

"He wants a title. He's always been trying to get into someone or other's good graces," she explains, looking at the floor rather than him. "I thought I'd kept you, well, you and me, a secret from him. He found out, I don't know how. He said if I got him his duke-dom he would finally leave us be. That's why we left Beruna, to get away from him. But now here he is, and here we are."

Caspian is unsure what to do for a moment, and a moment only. In the next he's filled with anger and wants Rose's father to know exactly what he thinks of this attempt to use his daughter in such a way.

"I didn't want to tell you," Rose whispers. "I thought it could resolve itself. It hasn't, as I'm sure you can tell. I'm not sure what to do now."

"And your mother?" Caspian asks, trying to speak little so his voice won't tremble in anger.

Rose shrugs, a small and tiny thing that makes Caspian want to hold her tightly enough that she forgets all this mess he wasn't even aware she was in. "I hope she's really at the market."

An uncomfortable silence falls. Caspian is trying his very best to keep a level head and not let his temper get the best of him, and Rose still looks as though she's trying to disappear into herself. He hates to see her like this, wants desperately to take it away so she never has to feel small again.

"What can I do?" As much as Caspian may itch, even crave, to take matters into his own hands and resolve this whole thing tonight, he doesn't want to intrude. He wants Rose to decide, to return some of the power imbalance back to her. She deserves to feel powerful and decisive again.

It's quick to come. "I just don't want a big mess, that's all. I don't want to worry with him again."

Caspian again gets the sense there's something else she isn't telling him, but he's not very concerned with that right now. He wants to help, not force her to divulge anything she doesn't feel comfortable divulging.

"I want to find Mother," Rose decides. "And then...I don't know. Isn't his scheming…I mean, couldn't it be considered conspiring against the crown?"

Caspian lifts the corner of his mouth into a smile. "A brilliant idea, Rose." Caspian can't help it, he draws her ever closer to himself. He wants very much to hold her, but he's waiting for a sign from her that she wants to be held just as badly.

"I'm going to tell him he'll be made a duke tonight. It'll placate him long enough that we can clear this whole thing up." Rose says the words as if they leave a bad taste in her mouth. They certainly leave one in Caspian's, just at the thought of giving in to anything that man demands. But he understands that Rose needs to do this her way, and that to deny her this could make her feel even smaller.

"If you wish, you may tell him I've invited you and your family for dinner tomorrow. He will be arrested the moment he sets foot in the castle."

Rose nods, her head bumping his shoulder. "Yes, that would work. Thank you."

Caspian turns so he's facing her, and tips her chin up so he can look her in the eye. "This changes nothing, Rose. Please believe that."

Her smile shakes, but it's there and he thinks she just might believe him. "Time will tell," she whispers, but it's with a hint of that teasing he fell in love with.

Caspian is a thousand kinds of relieved when she leaves looking not nearly so small as before.


	16. Chapter 15

**Finally, last chapter is edited. And that's another story done, thank the Lion. Happy Holidays, everyone!**

* * *

 **Chapter 15  
(** **Rose)**

She feels very small. She wasn't ready for him to know about this part of life yet, not so soon when they were only just getting to know each other. Yet it happened anyway. Caspian is determined that this changes nothing, so at least she needn't fear losing him just yet. Yet.

Rose hurries home, that fateful word thrumming under her ribs, hoping to get there before Medias so she can catch her father and tell him the false news. If it turns out Mother truly was at the market, so much the better, but Rose is rather suspicious she wasn't. And she has no intention of going to bed without knowing her mother is safe in the house with her, on the pallet right next to hers.

The door is still cracked open when Rose arrives at her home, and somehow she knows her father is still inside. Better to get this over with as soon as possible. Then she can forget this whole thing and focus on Caspian, on this strange and wonderful thing that happened between them in a matter of months. If her father's character truly does change things between her and Caspian, she'll just have to enjoy what they have now while they have it.

"Welcome back," her father says in that cold, slippery voice. "Have a nice night?"

Rose sighs and puts on her most defeated look - head hung, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, fingers curled into loose unaggressive fists. "You've gotten what you wanted," she whispers. "You're to be made a duke tomorrow. The king invited the whole family for dinner."

Father beams, and for a moment he looks like an ordinary man. He almost could be, sometimes when he's happy just after he's gotten what he wants. But then the greed sets in and Rose tries her best not to look disgusted. He rubs his hands together and looks just as happy as a lark.

"See, Rosamar? Was that so difficult?"

"Where's Mother?" she asks, keeping that smallness about her so he won't suspect anything is amiss.

"I'm here, Rose."

Rose exhales in a rush, relief making her knees weak. "It was a strange time to go to the market."

"Never mind the soup; I'll be feasting on mutton by next week." With a wink Father saunters past and out the door, slamming it and whistling on his way out.

Mother emerges from the shadows, and Rose holds in a gasp. Her face is blotchy-red from crying, and her eyes are bloodshot.

"Are we truly to dine with King Caspian on the morrow?"

"Yes," Rose manages. Her pulse thumps in her hands, but they feel cold as ice as Rose reaches awkwardly out to her mother. "How bad was he?"

Her mother looks away, and Rose lets her arms drop, wishing she knew better what to do. The last time she saw Mother this exhausted from her tears, Medias comforted her and Rose had tottered away to Isi's, too young to understand what her mother needed. Now, she feels like that helpless little girl once again, but this time there is no Isi to run to.

She's suddenly relieved Caspian knows, because without his help this would likely have gone on long after tomorrow. But now they just have to stick through until then, just a little longer and it will finally be over and Mother will never have this shattered look on her face again.

"He gave his word to leave us alone," Rose says. "He'll have to honor it. He'll be gone soon."

Mother smiles sadly. She doesn't believe it, but tomorrow it will all work out and they'll never have to deal with him again. Caspian assured her that her family's word would be more than sufficient to keep Father out of their lives for good.

Medias is furious when he comes home, but Rose whispers the truth to him when Mother is fast asleep and he sags in relief. "See, little bird," he says, "it was good that Caspian found out."

Rose isn't quite sure that's true – she'd rather have kept him out of this – but the result is looking rather favorable and it's a sweet comfort for the night if nothing else.

Work drags the next day. Rose doesn't want to leave Mother alone, but she has little choice when Mother won't leave the house. Rose tells her to lock the doors, refusing to leave until it's done, and goes to Sima's hoping she's done enough. She's almost expecting an unplanned visit from Father again, but thankfully none comes though she was well prepared for it. The one thing he did teach her was to always expect the unexpected.

At length, the day goes by and work is done. Rose sprints home to get ready for the outwardly simple dinner with the man she loves. He's just spending time with her and her family, that's all. But Rose knows more, as does Medias, and they can barely keep their smiles to themselves. Even when Father arrives, intent on walking with Rose the whole way, her mood is light.

Just a little longer now, just a little longer.

Caspian meets them at the castle doors, and Rose remembers another night when she ascended these same steps in a dress fit for a princess. Now she climbs with her family, with hope and a vision of the future that includes the king she met in a forest chasing a stag. How time changes things.

Rose glances back at her mother, whose face powder, hastily bought, covers up the leftover redness from crying herself to sleep. Father tucks Rose's arm tighter into his, and she grits her teeth. It's too tight, and she doesn't like it, but they're almost there and the moment they're through the doors this whole mess will be cleared forever.

Just a few more steps. A few more. The guards acknowledge the odd group of four with respectful nods and push open the doors. Caspian stands there alone, legs shoulder-width apart, tall and regal and as handsome as Rose has ever seen him. He radiates authority, and even Father has the sense to keep quiet.

The doors thud closed behind them. Caspian raises his chin, staring at her father with ice in his gaze.

"How is your family?" Caspian asks, without preamble, a blatant warning blaring in his voice. It's low, almost a growl, but something far more sophisticated than that.

"They are very well, milord." Father finally releases her arm and bows low at the waist. "And we thank you most humbly for the honor – "

"Quiet!"

Caspian's shout stills even the air, and Rose can barely breathe at the sight of him. He is every inch a king. He holds a hand out to her, and she feels her lips curl upward as she steps forward to take it. Bringing her hand up to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. He guides her to stand beside him, and for a moment Rose feels anything but small. She feels like a queen.

"You are hereby under arrest for schemes against the crown and grievous crimes against your family." Caspian's voice booms, sending shivers down Rose's back. His hand is warm and steady, cradling hers, as she stares down at her father, who splutters like he's just swallowed spoiled wine.

"But, but Sire –"

"Nothing you can say will change this." Rose is surprised to hear her own voice echoing in the hall, firm and strong as she's always wished she could be while facing her father.

And without another word, four guards swoop in and take his arms, dragging him away without ceremony. The man finds his voice after a few moments, and alternates between shouting entreaties and threats as he's taken away. Rose realizes she's shaking, but she just tries to focus on breathing steadily. Caspian is still warm and solid and strong beside her. He casts a concerned glance over to her when the door thunders closed and Rose's father is gone, silenced forever.

Slowly, a smile blooms on Rose's face, and she sees the same happening with her mother and Medias. Caspian relaxes beside her and she thinks she's never been so loved, never felt so cared for. She feels strong, invincible, regal. She feels like his equal at last, and the last of her doubts flitter away. Perhaps ruling a country will not be so simple, but for the first time she feels as though she can learn, that she can rule and not make a complete mess out of it.

"Well done, little bird," says Medias, bounding over to sweep her into a hug and a spin.

"This was your idea, Rose?"

Medias sets Rose down, and she goes to her mother unsure what to expect. She is relieved, she is happy, but is Mother? Rose thought she would be, but she never stopped loving Father, even when he shouted things to her no one should ever have to hear. Yet Rose wouldn't change what she did, because it was needed and it was effective and now no one has to deal with him again.

Rose nods, standing tall though she's the tiniest bit afraid of her mother's rejection. But Mother smiles at last, a true genuine smile, closing the distance between herself and her daughter swiftly.

"I've never been so proud," Rose's mother whispers, for Rose's ears alone.

"Thank you." The last of the weights she's been carrying lift off of her chest, and Rose laughs. She laughs as she hugs her mother, and she laughs when her mother releases her, when she flies into Medias's strong embrace, and when she runs back into Caspian's arms. She laughs when he catches her and crushes her against his chest, laughs when she hears the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

And just as if it were a normal night, they dine together in the splendor of the castle dining hall on the richest food Rose has ever tasted. It's perfect, and Rose never stops to wonder when it'll all end, when the next person she loves will leave. It's the simplest thing in the world, being happy at last.

In the weeks after Rose's father is done away with, Rose and Caspian grow ever closer. She teases him well and often, and every day they learn a little more about each other. Rose learns that Caspian hates milk in his tea, that given the opportunity he will eat all of the biscuits for teatime, that green is his favorite color and orange is his least, that he would rather stay up late than rise early, that when he does rise early he's the most adorable sort of cranky. And Caspian learns that Rose can't drink tea without a little milk, that she prefers fruit to biscuits, that blue is her favorite color and she has no leasts, that she loves to tease him the most when he's had to get up with the sun.

They spend as much of the days together as they can, and soon Caspian asks her to marry him in earnest. Rose accepts this time, and Caspian sees to it that they're married within the month.

And after they are man and wife, Rose learns that Caspian prefers the right side of the bed and he always sleeps on his back. His hair is a mess in the mornings, and running her fingers through it becomes her favorite morning pastime. He has a terrible habit of being a few minutes late to anything that starts before 9am, even breakfast. He only dreams if he's had a particularly stressful day, and when the dreams are of things he doesn't want to think about the best way to get him back to sleep is by singing, only just loud enough for him to hear. If it's before sunup his shirt will always be on backwards, and he despises washing his face with cold water every morning. He avoids the woods just to the southwest of Telmara whenever he rides alone, but he loves to picnic on the plains to the southeast. He's always warm to the touch, though she never quite figures out why, which makes winter her favorite season because there's nothing quite as cozy as curling into his side with her head resting over his heart as a fire roars in the hearth.

Caspian learns to always keep a fire going in the winter, because Rose is nearly always cold if it isn't summer. She doesn't care what side of the bed she sleeps on, but she does like to sleep to the left of him. She tells him many times that the sound of his heart is her favorite sound in the world. She takes her tea early if she can, and will always give him all the biscuits. Morning rides are one of her favorite things, and she's almost unbearably chipper once dawn has broken. She hates working with numbers and infinitely prefers to help rule by standing at his side, settling disputes, meeting foreign dignitaries. She goes a little stir-crazy if kept indoors for longer than two days, and she nearly always catches a cold in the last month of winter. Apples are her favorite fruit, and apple tarts are the best way to apologize if he does something idiotic. Caspian is a bit surprised to discover she has skill with a sword, though she is infinitely more surprised than he is. Archery is not one of her gifts. When war breaks out with the Giants of the North, Rose outright refuses to stay at home. Rather, she rides beside him as Queen Lucy rode into war in the Golden Age.

Caspian also discovers that she's wonderful with children. It takes a few years to convince her that they should have one of their own, but once she decides she likes the idea she is even more enthusiastic than he is. Within a year of trying their first child is growing in her belly. Caspian learns many more things about her in those nine months that follow.

Rose actually dislikes rising early, but developed the habit because that was the best time to sneak off to hear Isi's stories. She develops an unquenchable craving for peaches every morning three hours after dawn and every afternoon just after tea. She only wants mutton for a month, and for the rest of the eight months she will only eat chicken or Cornish hens. The quickest way to appease her whenever she's upset is by rubbing circles into her upper back. She always wakes with the sheets tangled around her legs because it takes her so many tries to get comfortable, and she is sure to give him all the biscuits at tea if he untangles them for her. She always loves to dance, no matter her mood. If she's not in bed by midnight, she is most likely in the kitchen, baking anything with apples. If there are no apples in the kitchen, she will most likely be on the ground in tears with flour covering her hands up to the elbows.

He learns that Rose still misses Isi terribly, that she was really chasing the stag looking for a reason to believe in all of the stories Isi told her. And she learns that Caspian still dreams of his father, and often wonders if he would be proud. He learns her biggest fear is being left without warning, abandoned by the person she loves most. She learns that his biggest fear is being a terrible father, because he was so young when his own father was killed that he doesn't have much of a model he remembers.

They learn all they wished to and far more, but above all they promise to never stop learning and never stop loving. By the grace of the Lion, they never do. And so they all lived happily ever after.

THE END


End file.
